THE ALDINE EDITION 

OF THE BRITISH 

POETS. 

r 

THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
WILLIAM BLAKE. 




T.FbclUps 



/i/Mc^i^^^^<^^^ 



t^ 



THE POETICAL WOKKS OF 
WILLIAM BLAKE, 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS. 

EDITED, WITH A PREFATORY MEMOIR, BY 



WILLIAM MICHAEL EOSSETTI. 



He wanders, like a day-appearing dream. 
Through the dim wildernesses of the mind. 

Shelley. 




BOSTON: 
ROBEETS BROTHERS. 

1875. 






Gift 

"W. Ii. Shoemaker 
I 8 '05 



r>^ 



^? 



COMPILED BY ME UKDEE THE EYE OE 

LUCY MADOX-BEOWJST 

IN THE ATJTTJMN OP 1873, 

THIS EDITION OE THE POEMS OE WILLIAM BLAKE 

IS IN 1874 INSCEIBED 

WITH THE STILL BEAKEB NAME OE 

LUCY EOSSETTI. 



CONTENTS. 




REFATORY Memoir 

Poetical Sketches: — 
Advertisement . 
King Edward the Third 
Prologue intended for a Dramatic Piece of King 

Edward the Fourth 
Prologue to King John 
To Spring — O thou with dewy locks, who 

lookest down 
To Summer . 
To Autumn . 
To Winter . 
To the Evening Star 
To Morning 
Fair Eleanor 

Song — How sweet I roamed from field to field 
Song — My silks and fine array 
Song — Love and harmony combine 
Song — I love the jocund dance 
Song — Memory, hither come 
Mad Song ...... 

Song — Fresh from the dewy hill, the merry 

year 
Song— When early morn walks forth in sober 

grey . 
To the Muses 
Gwin, King of Norway. 
An Imitation of Spenser 
Blind-man's Buff 



Page 



1 
3 

32 
33 

35 

36 
37 
38 
38 
39 
40 
43 
44 
44 
45 
46 
47 

48 

49 
50 
50 
55 
57 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



Poetical Sketches. 

A War Song : To Englishmen 
Samson . , 

The Book of Thel . 

A Motto . . . . 

Songs of Innocence. 

Introduction 

The Shepherd . 

The Echoing Green 

The Lamb . 

The Little Black Boy . 

The Blossom 

The Chimney- Sweeper — When my mother 

died I was very j^oung 
The Little Boy Lost — Father, father, where 

are you going .... 
The Little Boy Found .... 
Laughing Song ..... 
A Cradle Song — Sweet dreams, form a shade 
The Divine Image — To Mercy, Pity, Peace, 

and Love 
Holy Thursday — 'Twas on a Holy Thursday. 

their innocent faces clean 
Night .... 

Spring — Sound the flute 
Nurse's Song — When the voices of children 

are heard on the green 
Infant Joy ...... 

A Dream . . 

On Another's Sorrow .... 

The Voice of the Ancient Bard 

Songs of Experience. 

Introduction . . . 

Earth's Answer ..... 

The Clod and the Pebble 

Holy Thursday — Is this a holy thing to see 

The Little Girl Lost — In futurity . 

The Little Girl Found .... 

The Chimney-Sweeper — A little black thing 

among the snow . 
Nurse's Song — When the voices of children 

are heard on the green 



CONTENTS. 




V 


Songs of Experience. 




Page 


The Sick Rose . 




104 


The Fly . . . 






105 


The Angel . 






106 


The Tiger . 






106 


My Pretty Rose Tree . 






107 


Ah Sunflower 






108 


The Lily . 






108 


The Garden of Love 






109 


The Little Vagabond . 






110 


London 






111 


The Human Abstract . 






111 


Infant Sorrow 






112 


Christian Forbearance . 






113 


A Little Boy Lost — ^Nought loves 


another as 




itself "... 


. 


114 


A Little Girl Lost— Children of th( 


} future age 


11.5 


A Divinel mage — Cruelty has a human heart 


116-^ 


A Cradle Song — Sleep, sleep, beauty bright . 


117 


The Schoolboy . . 




118 


To Tirzah .... 


, 


119 


The Tiger (Second Version) 


. , 


120 


Lafayette 


• 


121 


The Gates of Paradise. 






Introduction 


, 


123 


The Keys of the Gates . 




123 


Epilogue : To the Accuser, who is 


the God of 




this World . 


, 


125 


To my dear Friend, Mrs. Anna Flaxma 


ri 


126 


To Mr. Butts .... 


. 


127 


To Mrs. Butts .... 


. 


129 


Verses — With happiness stretched acros 


s the hills . 


130 


Verses — Oh why was I born with a diflfereut face . 


133 


From Jerusalem. 






To the Public . 


, 


134 


To the Jews . . 


. 


135 


To the Deists . . 


, ^ 


' 138 


To the Christians . 


, , 


140 


From the Prophetic Book '' Milton " 




142 


Dedication of the Designs to Blair's 


Grave : To 




Queen Charlotte 




143 


The Everlasting Gospel 




, 


144 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



The Birds . 

Broken Love 

The Two Songs . 

The Defiled Sanctuary 

Cupid 

Love's Secret 

The Wild Flower's Song 

The Goldeu Net . 

Scoffers 

The Grey Monk . 

Daybreak . 

Thames and Ohio 

Young Love 

Riches 

Opportunity 

Seed-Sowing 

Barren Blossom . 

Night and Day . 

In a Myrtle Shade 

For a Picture of the Last Judgment : Dedication 

Mammon . 

Father of Jealousy 

Idolatry 

The Will and the Way 

The Crystal Cabinet 

Smile and Frown 

The Land of Dreams 

Mary 

Auguries of Innocence 

The Mental Traveller . 

William Bond 



Page 
155 
156 
159 
160 
161 
161 
162 
163 
164 
164 
166 
166 
167 
167 
168 
168 
169 
169 
170 
170 
171 
172 
173 
174 
174 
176 
176 
177 
180 
184 
190 



Couplets and Fragments 

I. I walked abroad on a snowy day . 192 

II. Abstinence sows sand all over . , 192 

III. The look of love alarms . . . 192 

IV. To Chloe's breast young Cupid slyly 

stole 193 

V. Grown old in love from seven till seven 

times seven . . . . 193 

VI. The sword sang on the barren heath 193 
VII. Great things are done when men and 

mountains meet . . . 193 



CONTENTS. 

Couplets and Fragments 

VIII. The errors of a wise man make your 

rule ..... 

IX. Some people admire the work of a fool 

X. He's a blockhead who wants a proof 

of what he can't perceive . 
XI. If e'er I grow to man's estate . 
XII. Her whole life is an epigram, smack 
smooth, and nobly penned 

XIII. An answer to the Parson . 

XIV. The angel that presided o'er my birth 
XV. Reason ..... 

XVI. Friends and Foes . 
XVII. Here lies John Trot, the friend of all 

mankind. 
XVIII. T was buried near this dyke 
XIX. Blake's Friends 
XX. False friends, fie, fie ! our friendship 
3^ou shan't sever 

XXI. On Havlev. 1 . . . 

,; ' 2 . . . 

3 . . . 

4 . . . 

XXII. Cromek ..... 
XXIII. Prayers plough not, praises reap not 



vu 

Page 

193 
194 

194 
194 

194 
195 
195 
195 
196 

196 
196 
196 

197 
197 
197 
198 
198 
198 
198 



Epigrams and Satirical pieces on Art and 
Artists : — 

I. Orator Prig ..... 

dear mother, Outline of wisdom most 
sage .... 

Some look to see the sweet outlines 

On the Venetian Painter. 

To Venetian Artists 

Colour and Form 

Thank God, I never was sent to school 

On certain Friends .... 

On the great encouragement given by 
English nobility and gentry to 
Correggio, Rubens, Rembrandt, 
Reynolds, Gainsborough, Cata- 
lani, and Dilberry Doodle 

Seeing a Rembrandt or Correggio 

To English Connoisseurs . 



IL 

III. 
IV. 
V. 
VI. 
VII. 
VIII. 
IX. 



X. 

XI. 



199 

200 
200 
200 
200 
201 
201 
202 



202 
203 
203 



Vlll 



CONTENTS. 



Epigrams and Satirical pieces on art and 


Artists 


: — 


Page 


XII. 


Raphael and Rubens 


204 


XIII. 


Sir Joshua praises Michael Angelo 


204 


XIV. 


Colour ..... 


204 


XV. 


Fuseli ...... 


205 


XVI. 


ToFlaxman .... 


205 


XVII. 


To the same .... 


205 


XVIII. 


On Stothard . . . . 


205 


XIX. 


When Nations grow old . 


206 


TiRIEL 




207 





PEEFATORY MEMOIR. 



1. — Pkeliminaey. 

\ N writing a Memoir of William Blake, 
little or no difficulty can now arise 
as to the external facts — the dates, 
personages, and incidents. The truly 
valuable and so far exhaustive book 
of Mr. Alexander Gilchrist has settled all these 
points for us substantially ; it barely requires to 
be here and there rectified or supplemented in 
some minor particular. Its tone moreover is as 
earnest and elevated as its research is true and 
thorough. I need hardly say that I am indebted 
to this book for the vast majority of my facts : 
any one who undertakes to write about Blake 
cannot be otherwise. Thus far, therefore, every- 
thing is plain : one has openly to acknowledge a 
genuine debt of gratitude to Mr. Gilchrist, and 
to run up the account freely. 

The difficulty of Blake's biographers, subsequent 
to 1863, the date of Mr. Gilchrist's book, is of a 
difierent kind altogether. It is the difficulty of 
stating sufficiently high the extraordinary claims 

b 



X PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

of Blake to admiration and reverence, without 
slurring over those other considerations which 
need to be plainly and fully set forth if we would 
obtain any real idea of the man as he was, — of his 
total unlikeness to his contemporaries, of his 
amazing genius and noble performances in two 
arts, of the height by which he transcended other 
men, and the incapacity which he always evinced 
for performing at all what others accomplish easily. 
He could do vastly more than they, but he could 
seldom do the like. By some unknown process, 
he had soared to the top of a cloud-capped Alp 
while they were crouching in the valley : but to 
reach a middle station on the mountain was what 
they could readily manage step by step, while 
Blake found that ordinary achievement impracti- 
cable. He could not and he would not do it : the 
want of will, or rather the utter alienation of will, 
the resolve to soar (which was natural to him), 
and not to walk (which was unnatural and re- 
pulsive), constituted, or counted in stead of, an 
actual want of power. Could Blake think, and 
embody his thoughts, like other men ? There are 
instances in which he both could do so, and has 
done it : but certain it is, regarding him in his 
most characteristic moods, that mostly he would 
not : and, in the case of so spacious, daring, and 
intuitive a mind, so vivid, uncompromising, ex- 
clusive, and peremptory a character, the aversion, 
when it reached a certain height, amounted to 
incapability. For "aversion" we might perhaps 
substitute the word " perversity : " Blake was 
the most perverse of mortals, except to his own 
ideal, his own inspiration. To these he was loyal 
beyond praise, and beyond words : to aught else, 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XI 

equally impenetrable and contumacious. The 
moon partially eclipsed might be taken as no 
inapt image of Blake's mind : a glorious luminary, 
and not bedimmed or overclouded in its lucid 
part, but distinctly reft of light in a certain other 
portion. If those who urged him to do common 
things, or to do lofty things by common processes, 
were in the right, then Blake was not only in the 
wrong, but perverse, a " son of perdition." If 
Blake, on the other hand, was essentially right as 
to his aims and methods, then the rugged gradient 
of his perversity was also an ascending plane of 
heroism. Eapt in a passionate yearning, he realized, 
even on this earth and in his mortal body, a species 
of nirvana : his whole faculty, his whole personality, 
the very essence of his mind and mould, attained 
to absorption into his ideal ultimate, — into that 
which Dante's profound phrase designates " il Ben 
deir intelletto." 

Thus much may be truly and reverently said 
of Blake : something of the kind, indeed, cannot 
be left unsaid, if we would in any way appreciate, 
instead of merely disparaging and misconceiving, 
him. On certain grounds, in the totality of his 
intellect and aspiration, we must uphold and exalt 
him. So long as we consider Blake in these more 
general relations, to lower him would be to lower 
ourselves. The intrinsic greatness of the man 
and of his work is by this time patent and 
irrefutable : — clear to those persons who have 
examined the matter, and who are capable of 
entering into it with an understanding mind ; 
contested, no doubt, by some others, and to the 
multitude unknown, but this goes for nothing as 
authority. When we proceed, however, to a more 



XU PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

strict analysis of the operations of Blake's intel- 
lect, we shall unquestionably find much to startle 
and disconcert us: not now because he fails to 
attempt ordinary things, or to perform them well, 
but because he does extraordinary things in an 
inconceivable — not to say an often insufierable — 
manner. In fact, the old much-urged question 
**"Was Blake a madman?" presents itself to us, 
and challenges an answer. His diligent and dis- 
cerning biographer, Mr. Gilchrist, says decisively 
*'ISro": so does Mr. Swinburne, in that remark- 
able Gritical Essay ^ which has done more towards 
clearing up the darkest recesses of Blake's mind, 
and the most chaotic wastes of his writings, than 
had ever before been either achieved or attempted. 
This question about Blake is one on which I must 
:fi.ecessarily have formed some kind of opinion, and 
ought ere I close to express it: but for the present 
I forbear, preferring that the reader should see 
something of the evidence before the deduction is 
presented for his consideration. 

The facts to be stated regarding Blake's outer 
life are few, and mostly (save so far as they bear 
directly upon the peculiarities of his mental con- 
stitution, and the resultant works in poetry and 
design) are of an ordinary character. The inner 
life is a mine of prodigies and problems : few of 
these can be thoroughly explored or solved, and 
of many we can here take no real count at all. 
The works — or rather (for many others have been 
lost) a certain proportion of the works — which 

^ The books referred to are the Life of William Blake, by 
the late Alexander Gilchrist, 2 vols. : Macmillan and Co., 
1863; and William Blake, a Critical Essay, by Algernon 
Charles Swinburne: Hotten, 1868. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Xlll 

the painter-poet produced in his incessantly 
laborious life, remain to us, and will, within our 
restricted scope and opportunities, form a prin- 
'Cipal object of our attention here. 

2. — The Events op Blake's Life. 

London gave birth to William Blake ; and, in 
doing so, produced one of the strangest of all 
the many-millioned natives of the great city, and 
one moreover of the most curious and abnormal 
personages of the later eighteenth and earlier 
nineteenth centuries; a man not forestalled by 
predecessors, nor to be classed with contem- 
poraries, nor to be replaced by known or readily 
surmisable successors. He was born on the 28th 
of November 1757,i at ISTo. 28 Broad Street, Car- 
naby Market, near Golden Square ; a district at 
that time of very respectable standing, though 
now fully as dingy as decorous. JSTo. 28 is a cor- 
ner-house at the narrower end of the street, which 
varies considerably in width. He was the second 
son of James and Catharine Blake, and the second 
child out of a family of five. The father carried 
on business as a hosier, and was a moderately 
prosperous man: in religion a Dissenter. The 
first child, and great favourite of the parents, 
was John, who turned out badly and enlisted in 

^ A MS. which I have seen, the production of Mr. 
Frederick Tatham, who knew Blake well in his latter years, 
^ives " 20 " November as the date of birth. The other 
date, " 28 " November, is assigned by Mr. Gilchrist ; and 
his accuracy in such matters leads me to adopt it, though 
I am not distinctly aware whether he did more than re- 
produce this date from Allan Cunningham's entertaining 
but comparatively slight memoir. 



XIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

the army. Then, next after William, came James ; 
of him, as well as of the youngest brother Eobert, 
and of a still younger sister, William's junior by 
seven years, we shall hear a little more as we 
proceed. 

William Blake's education was of the scantiest, 
being confined to reading and writing : arithmetic 
also may be guessed at, but is not recorded, and 
very probably his capacity for acquiring or re- 
taining that item of knowledge was far below 
the average. In boyhood he was fond of little 
country jaunts ; these were readily obtainable at 
that time by a resident in the Golden Square dis- 
trict, remote though it now is from the outskirts 
— themselves interminable — of the capital, ever 
spreading, and ever the more closely cooping up 
the teeming turmoil of its denizens. He began 
drawing very early, becoming (as Allan Cun- 
ningham has said) " at ten years of age an artist, 
and at twelve a poet." This last-named age is 
even, it would seem, too advanced by a year for 
the fact ; for the Foetical Slcetches, Blake's first 
printed volume, were stated in the prefatory 
words to have been begun in his " twelfth year," 
— and probably some other verses, still more 
childish in point of date, not to speak of execu- 
tion, would have preceded them. He copied 
prints in his boyhood, and haunted sale-rooms : 
his parents, more especially his mother, seem to 
have encouraged this artistic turn. In 1767 he 
began attending the drawing- school of Mr. Pars 
in the Strand, a well-known academy, which 
pupils used to frequent as preparatory to the 
one which flourished in St. Martin's Lane. Here 
he had the opportunity of studying from the 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XV 

antique, but not from the life. At sale-rooms 
he bought engravings low, and selected them 
high ; a Eaphael or a Michael Angelo, a Durer or 
a Hemskerk. Certainly this was not the taste of 
the time ; but the little lad Blake already moved 
intellectually within his own insight, as a planet 
within its own orbit. His own insight was always 
to him his epoch, his proof, and his vindication : 
other people — other boys in his boyhood, in his 
manhood other men — might shift for themselves, 
and live practically in a different age of the world. 
To him it mattered not. " I am right, and they 
are wrong," more or less definitely worded, was 
his reply. " I am happy " (he has written in cer- 
tain notes upon E^eynolds, not exactly squaring 
with the views, of the British connoisseur) */ 1 can- 
not say that Eaphael ever was, from my earliest 
childhood, hidden from Hie. I saw and I knew 
immediately the difference between Eaphael and 
Eubens." 

The career of a painter would have been the 
natural one for Blake, with such capacities and 
tastes, to adopt ; and he did to some considerable 
extent pursue it in after life. His father's means, 
however, were not such as to put this profession 
conveniently within the lad's reach : he was con- 
sequently bound to an engraver, and the engraving 
branch of art was that which he followed ever 
afterwards as his regular calling. In 1771, at the 
age of fourteen, he became one of the apprentices 
of the well-reputed engraver James Basire, who 
(domiciled in No. 31 Great Queen Street, Lincoln's 
Inn Fields) was employed on the work of the 
Antiquarian and the Eoyal Societies. For the 
former body he issued, in 1774, the largest engrav- 



XVI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

ing that had as yet been ever executed upon one 
plate, about forty-seven inches by twenty-seven, 
The Field of the Cloth of Gold, after the picture at 
Windsor. Basire's style was hard, dry, and firm : 
Blake naturally adopted it during his apprentice- 
ship, and retained not a little of it in his after 
practice. I speak, of course, of his ordinary 
engravings, frequently from the works of .other 
artists, executed in the recognized professional 
method; for those other engravings which he pro- 
duced to illustrate many of his own writings, and 
in which he used processes known only to himself, 
are of an entirely difierent kind. The adoption of 
his instructor's style was so far well suited to 
Blake as that it wholly eschewed frivolity and 
trick ; he often, in conversation or in writing, con- 
tinued to uphold its superiority to the more facile 
and popular manner of other practitioners. It 
was not, however, attractive to common eyes, nor 
fully satisfying to those of an artist, and it must 
have retarded rather than promoted Blake's success 
with publishers and purchasers. 

The master and the apprentice had reason to 
be mutually well-pleased during their connection : 
the former was upright and kind, and the latter 
made steady and satisfactory progress. After a 
while, however, some discordances arose. Two 
other apprentices came to the establishment to- 
wards the beginning of Blake's third year. They 
proved less docile than the senior pupil, and won 
him partly over to their side; and in consequence 
he was sent out of the house, from time to time, 
to make drawings in Westminster Abbey, and in 
various old churches, for the antiquary Gough. 
On some other subjects Blake and his fellow- 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XVll 

apprentices were less harmonious ; they wrangled 
over metaphysical problems, on which Blake, we 
may be sure, was very positive, and his opj56nents 
probably inexpert, and proportionately indisposed 
to be convinced. His present employment imbued 
Blake with a decided love of Gothic feeling and 
form, which (although in a very rudimentary con- 
dition) can often be traced throughout his original 
work. He sketched the tombs in the Abbey, en- 
graved a selection from his studies there, and made 
drawings from history, and from fancy. One of his 
engravings, dated as early as 1773, has a pecu- 
liarity of subject foreshadowing what he did in 
later years. It is inscribed Joseph of Arimatliea 
among the Rocks of Albion, and is founded on a 
design by Michael Angelo. There is also the 
inscription : " This is one of the Gothic artists 
who built the Cathedrals in what we call the Dark 
Ages, wandering about in sheepskins and goat- 
skins, of whom the world was not worthy. Such 
were the Christians in all ages." During his 
apprentice days Blake's chief pleasure was in 
making drawings and verses, to be hung up in his 
mother's room. His term came to an end in 1778. 
He next studied in the Antique School of the 
Eoyal Academy, under the keeper Mr. Moser — 
not with unmixed satisfaction. He has left 
us an amusing anecdote of his having been 
looking over prints from Kaphael and Michael 
Angelo in the Academy library, when Moser ex- 
tolled in their stead the works of Rubens and 
Lebrun. " These things that you C2l\ finished,^'' 
replied Blake to Moser, *' are not even begun; 
how then can they be finished ?" He drew a great 
deal from the antique, and afterwards also from 



XVlll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

the living model ; but he disliked the latter 
practice. " The life," in this condition, appeared 
to him " more like death," and " smelling of 
mortality." Another anecdote, which may apper- 
tain to this period of studentship or probably to a 
rather later date, is that of Blake's interview with 
Sir Joshua Eeynolds. It may help to account for 
the extreme animosity which the ideal artist 
always showed against the consummately -gifted 
portrait -painter ; though assuredly the deeper 
grounds of this feeling were matter of genuine 
conviction, and not of any mere personal exaspera- 
tion. " Once I remember^ his talking to me of 
Eeynolds," writes a surviving friend ; "he became 
furious at what the latter had dared to say of his 
early works. When a very young man, he had 
called on Eeynolds, to show him some designs, 
and had been recommended to work with less ex- 
travagance and more simplicity, and to correct his 
drawing. This Blake seemed to regard as an 
affront never to be forgotten. He was very 
indignant when he spoke of it." No doubt the 
censure of the drawing of so severe and forcible a 
draughtsman as Blake, coming from one of so 
much loose facility as Eeynolds, was peculiarly 
galling, notwithstanding the great difference in 
age and professional standing. 

Blake, still domiciled with his father in Broad 
Street, was now beginning to paint water-colours, 
and also to engrave, on his own account, for 
publishers. He executed prints for the Novelists' 
Magazine — among others, some after Stothard — 
and for the Ladies^ Magazine. An engraver named 

^ This passage is extracted from Mr. Gilchrist's book. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XIX 

Trotter introduced him to Stothard, two years his 
senior; and Stothard made him known to Flax- 
man, who was at present subsisting on his work 
for Wedgwood. Flaxman professed to be — and 
one may fairly believe that he really was — a 
sincere admirer and firm friend of Blake ; although 
the latter, at times, believed the contrary, as is 
amply proved by an epigram or two reproduced in 
the present volume, as well as by occasional pas- 
sages in Blake's prose writings. Afterwards the 
visionary painter knew likewise Fuseli, whose life, 
prolonged to the age of eighty-three, ceased (in 
April 1825) only about two years before that of 
Blake himself. Him Blake always admired as an 
artist, and valued as a friend ; indeed, if we may 
credit one of his own splenetic utterances in 
doggrel, Fuseli, being " both Turk and Jew,'' was 
'* the only man who did not make him almost 
spue." The pithy utterance of the Swiss painter, 
" Blake is damned good to steal from," attested 
the genuinely appreciative estimate with which he 
repaid his friend's good opinion. The " stealing," 
according to Blake, was done by both Stothard 
and Flaxman ; in other words, Blake supplied 
ideas, or designs more or less completely sug- 
gested, and his acquaintances availed themselves 
freely of these, and worked them up into materials 
of fame and fortune. The transparent sincerity 
of Blake's character does not allow of our wholly 
discrediting these charges. In the case of Sto- 
thard, we shall see that the accusation takes 
eventually a more defined form. In that of Flax- 
man, it does not appear that any surrejptitious 
appropriation of Blake's ideas is imputed, and 
therefore, supposing Flaxman to have been always 



XX PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

sincerely friendly to Blake, the charge does not 
bear hard on the sculptor^ s character — only on the 
grievous conditions under which the more inven- 
tive Blake had to work and live, while another 
received the credit. Blake, it should be remem- 
bered, was an exceedingly impulsive, and in a 
certain sense a violent, man — always, at the least, 
vehement and unmeasured. He knew and keenly 
felt, spite of his extreme superiority to worldly 
self-interest, that he was not receiving, as years 
passed over his head, his due of reputation from 
the public; and I would be quite disposed, in 
equity as well as in inclination, to reduce to a 
minimum the charge raised by him against Max- 
man, ^ and in most respects against Stothard as 
well. Clearly, he was for years on good terms 
with Stothard, and still longer bore a true affection 
to Maxman. If at whiles his heart burned within 
him, and he blurted out something that jars upon 
the reader's nerves and recollection, let us not 
suffer this to tell too severely against either 
Maxman or himself; but, while not entirely 
exonerating Flaxman, which would amount to 
entirely inculpating Blake, let us think a little 
kindly allowance can be made for both, and 
lay over the infirmities or the misapprehensions 
of both illustrious friends one fold the closer of 
the veil of oblivion. 



^ The charge is formulated as follows in a MS. composition 
by Blake, never published until by Mr. Gilchrist, in his 
second volume, p. 156: — " Flaxman cannot deny that one 
of the very 'first monuments he did I gratuitously designed 
for him. At the same time he was blackening my character 
as an artist to Macklin, my employer [a publisher], as 
Macklin told me at the time, and posterity will know." 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXI 

The year 1780 was that in which Blake first 
exhibited a picture in the Eoyal Academy : this 
was the Death of Earl Godwin, probably executed 
in water-colours. He continued exhibiting at the 
same institution from time to time — only five 
instances in all — up to the year 1808, when he 
sent Christ in the Sejpulchre guarded hy Angels, and 
Jacob's Bream : these were his final contributions. 

About the time when he first began thus ex- 
hibiting he was " keeping company " with a lively 
girl, to whom the name of Clara Woods has with 
some likelihood been assigned ; she proved in- 
different, and he was jealous. At the house of 
Mr. Boucher, a market-gardener at Battersea 
(where possibly Blake was just then lodging), he 
was once complaining of his amorous distresses. 
The daughter of the house said : " I pity you from 
my heart." "Do you pity me?" asked Blake. 
" Yes, I do most sincerely." " Then I love you 
for that." "And I love you,'' responded the dam- 
sel. This was the beginning and the turning- 
point of the courtship which resulted in Blake's 
marriage. Catharine Sophia Boucher was one of 
a rather large family, a slim and graceful (or in 
fact, as has been said, " very pretty ") brunette, 
with white hands, which had attracted the 
painter's notice, and expressive features. Belong- 
ing as she did to a very humble stock, she had 
received next to no education. In the marriage - 
register she only signed her mark, when, on the 
18th of August 1782, in her twenty-first year, she 
became the painter's bride. He elicited the dor- 
mant powers of her mind ; taught her to read and 
write ; and trained her to the working-oflP of his 
engravings, and to colouring them now and 



XXll PRErATORY MEMOIR. 

again, and even to some skill in designing, in 
a class of subject-matter and general treatment 
closely enough resembling that which stamps his 
own works with so marvellous an individuality. 
She was, besides, a good thrifty manager, as the 
always narrow means of the married couple 
urgently required her to be ; and a handy cook also 
in a plain unpretentious way, which was fortunate 
in a household where no servant was kept. In 
other more important respects — in short, in every 
sense — she was a most excellent, believing, and 
devoted wife. If Blake had visions, she credited 
them, though without professing to see the same 
appearances which were manifest to him, and she 
actually caught from him a visionary faculty of 
her own : if he required companionship, she was 
always there; help, she yielded it affectionately 
and efficiently; service, drudgery, she was un- 
stinting of both. "She would get up in the 
night " (says Mr. John Thomas Smith, commonly 
called "Nollekens Smith") "when he was under 
his very fierce inspirations, which were as if they 
would tear him asunder, while he was yielding 
himself to the Muse, or whatever else it could be 
called, sketching and writing. And so terrible 
a task did this seem to be that she had to sit 
motionless and silent, only to stay him mentally, 
without moving hand or foot : this for hours, and 
night after night." 

In some of the earlier years of the marriage, 
indeed, it is said that grave conflicts of feeling 
and of will arose between Blake and his wife — 
jealousy on her part being the essential cause, or 
rather something on his part which occasioned 
her jealousy. This will surprise no one who is 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXlll 

cognizant of the full range of Blake's writings, 
and who consequently knows that his views of 
the sexual relation and of the marriage -tie, along 
with other burning questions, were of the most 
audacious possible kind — more conformable to 
the quality of an oriental patriarch or a religious 
and social innovator than of an English engraver 
of the eighteenth century. It has even been said 
that at one time he proposed to add a second 
wife to the household. This may or may not be 
true as fact : as an exemplification of theory, those 
who have more than skimmed Blake's works know 
that such ideas were not unfamiliar to his mind. 
The difierence would have been not between the 
one startling act and the many startling words 
expressed or implied, but merely between the 
power of startling which belongs respectively to 
one act and to many words. Be this affair of the 
proposed second wife true or not, certain it is that 
not one of his few biographers gives any distinct 
intimation of de facto breaches of marital faith on 
Blake's part : he seems to have lived with regu- 
larity, and observance of the practical obligations 
of man in society, in this as in all other regards. 
Any differences between himself and his wife 
which may have chequered their harmony in the 
earlier years of wedlock seem afterwards to have 
subsided wholly ; and we can, without either un- 
certainty as to the external facts, or misgiving 
as to the internal conditions, contemplate in the 
case of William and Catharine Blake — somewhat 
hazardously matched couple as they would appear 
to have been originally — a genuine marriage. 
Affection was truly and warmly interchanged 
between them ; while guidance and elevating in- 



XXIV PKEFATORY MEMOIR. 

fluence on the one side were requited by a tender 
perpetuity of service on the other. 

The marriage, which proved a childless one, 
was not particularly pleasing to Blake's father. 
The young couple set up house at Ko. 23 Green 
Street, Leicester Fields. Soon afterwards Blake 
began to see something of literary and fashionable 
society, through his being introduced by Flaxman 
to Mrs. Mathew, the lady whose conversazioni at 
^"0. 27 Eathbone Place kept up at that . time 
much of the vogue of the original " blue- stocking" 
meetings. Here Blake would read his poems, and 
also sing them; for, though he knew nothing of 
musical science or notation, he had set some of 
his verses to airs which, according to Mr. J. T. 
Smith, were ** most singularly beautiful,'' and 
" were noted down by musical professors." His 
love was for simple, not elaborate, music; 
in his old age he would still sometimes 
sing when among intimate friends. These per- 
formances gave great pleasure at Mrs. Mathew's 
parties, where Blake was for a time a welcome 
guest: but his "unbending deportment,'^ or 
" manly firmness of opinion," stood in the way of 
any such social success, and somewhere towards 
1785 he ceased — or almost wholly ceased — to re- 
appear in the house. Such a result is more than 
intelligible. Blake was not only a visionary and 
mystic, and a daring speculator in religion and 
morals, but he was and always continued a re- 
publican, and enemy of kings and of war, and 
moreover an utter nonconformist in his own 
special work of art and of poetry. As regards 
republicanism, he maintained that the very shape 
of his forehead, larger over the eyes than above. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXV 

marked him out for that form of political opinion. 
And on all these debateable and exciting topics 
alike he was ever ready to make the most positive 
and exclusive ajfirmations, to pronounce, decree, 
and hear of no denial or qualification. His atti- 
tude, in short, was always that of an inspired 
seer : the thing was so because he saw it so, and 
he saw it so, not by a bodily and argumentative 
eye, but by a spiritual and intuitional one. Truly 
loveable in personal character, he conciliated a 
certain good-will in a number of the most un- 
promising quarters ; but a man of this kind was 
plainly not destined to be of the elect in the 
regions of small-talk. One circumstance of some 
importance in his career resulted from his ac- 
quaintance with Mrs. Mathew and her husband. 
The latter, the Eev. Henry Mathew, combined 
with Flaxman in causing Blake's first volume of 
verse, the Poetical SJcetches, to be printed in 1783; 
and the obliging clergyman wrote the few words 
of preface to that selection. The impression was 
presented to Blake — too poor now and very gen- 
erally afterwards to launch out into any such 
expenses for himself ; but it was not published in 
the ordinary sense. 

Blake's father, dying in the summer of 1784, 
was succeeded in the hosiery business by his third 
son James, a person not wholly unlike William 
in a visionary (more especially a Swedenborgian) 
tendency, but otherwise by no means in sympathy 
with him. One regets to hear that, in later 
years, the two brothers would not speak to one 
another; an estrangement for which no distinct 
reason is on record, unless one can say that the 
hosier's general disapproval of the unworldliness 



XXVI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

and wilfulness of the mystic, and the mystic's 
scorn of the peddling and scraping habits of 
the hosier, furnish a not insufficient explanation. 
Elake set up shop next door to his brother (No. 27) 
as a printseller and engraver, in partnership with 
one of his fellow-apprentices, Mr. Parker, the i&rm 
being styled " Parker and Blake." Mrs. Blake 
helped in the shop. This association continued 
till 1787, when Blake, disagreeing with Parker, 
seceded. Meanwhile his favourite brother Bobert, 
some five years younger than himself, had been 
with him as a gratuitous pupil in engraving ; he 
too, like the tractable wife, took to making original 
designs marked by the fraternal influence. An 
early death closed a life of no small promise. 
Eobert died towards the beginning of 1787: 
William saw his soul ascend through the ceiling, 
" clapping its hands for joy." After his death, 
and the severance of the partnership with Parker, 
Blake removed to the neighbouring Poland Street, 
No. 28. Here the spirit of Eobert rendered him 
an essential service ; directing him, in a nocturnal 
vision, how to proceed in bringing out poems and 
designs in conjunction, all of them the produce of 
his own hand in every executive respect, no less 
than of his own mind. This question- — the diffi- 
culty of producing poetical works to the public 
when he had no money to pay for printing — had 
embarrassed William's mind for some while before 
1787, when the 8ongs of Innocence issued forth : 
the spirit of Eobert solved the problem. " This 
method," says Mr. Gilchrist, " to which Blake 
henceforth consistently adhered for multiplying 
his works, was quite an original one. It consisted 
in a species of engraving in relief both words and 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXVU 

designs. The verse was written, and the designs 
and marginal embellishment outlined, on the 
copper with an impervious liquid, — probably the 
ordinary stopping-out varnish of engravers. Then 
all the white parts, or lights, (the remainder of 
the plate, that is) were eaten away with aquafortis 
or other acid, so that the outline of letter and 
design was left prominent, as in stereotype. 
From these plates he printed off in any tint — 
yellow, brown, blue — required to be the prevailing 
(or ground) colour in his facsimiles : red he used 
for the letterpress. The page was then coloured 
up by hand in imitation of the original drawing, 
with more or less variety of detail in the local 
hues." He mixed his colours with diluted glue, a 
process revealed to him by St. Joseph ; Mrs. Blake 
did up the books in boards, and often assisted in 
tinting the designs, — sometimes, especially in the 
copies which she treated after her husband's death, 
overloading the colour ; in fact, as Mr. Gilchrist 
points out, every item of the process was done by 
Blake with his wife's willing aid, save only the 
making of the paper. 

In the same year, 1789, followed The Boole of 
Thel ; in 1790, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell ; 
in 1791 (sole book by Blake that was both printed 
and published in the ordinary way), The French 
BevoluUon, a Poem in 7 BooJcs ; Booh I. The 
other instalments of this rhapsodical work never 
appeared, nor is the value of the first Book such 
as to raise any grave regret for their suppression. 
'Not one of these productions made the least way 
with the public at the time : but, as years rolled 
on, the sale, within his more or less immediate 
circle of acquaintance, of the Songs of Innocence^ 



XXVlll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

and some other books engraved in the same way, 
though often of a widely different character of writ- 
ing and design (such as the Daughters of Albion, 
Ufizen, Jerusolem, 8fc,, to be hereafter spoken of), 
constituted one of the least precarious and least 
paltry sources of income for the spiritual-minded 
Blake. That his income was always exiguous is 
attested by many incidental facts ; as, for instance, 
that he was often compelled to work new designs 
on his old copper-plates. His selling price for 
the united Songs of Innocence and Experience (the 
latter came out in 1794) was from £1.10s. to £2.2^.; 
but occasionally, in his latter years, he received 
as much as £5. 5s., or, from friends who were cog- 
nizant of his necessities, yet larger sums. The 
highest of these amounts can be barely a third of 
what a good copy would now sell for. 

Passing lightly over some of the work which 
Blake executed towards this time — such as his 
few designs, engraved by himself, for Mary "Woll- 
stonecraft's Tales for Children — we find him living 
on good terms with the bookseller Johnson, of St. 
Paul's Churchyard, and attending the dinners 
which the latter gave, and at which, along with 
Puseli, several of the political extremists of the 
day were wont to gather — Price, Priestley, Miss 
Wollstonecraft, Godwin, Holcroft, Paine. Blake 
went so far as to put-on the honnet rouge, and walk 
the streets with it ; being, it is said, the only one 
of the set who would adventure thus patently to 
profess his fetterless politics. This was some 
little while before the prison-massacres of Septem- 
ber 1792, which induced Blake to re-alter his 
head-dress. Towards the latter date, Paine, who 
had then been elected to the French National 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXIX 

Convention, was under prosecution in England 
for publishing his Rights of Man ; and but for a 
timely warning from Blake — " You must not go 
home, or you are a dead man " — he might probably 
have delayed his departure to the land of the 
Kepublic, and would in that case have been inevi- 
tably arrested, for an order to detain him was 
received at Dover almost as soon as he had set 
sail. 

In 1793 Blake quitted Poland Street for JSTo. 13 
Hercules Buildings, Lambeth ; and, in May of the 
same year, he published his little book of symbolic 
designs entitled For Children (some copies. For 
the Sexes), The Gates of Paradise, This was 
rapidly followed by the Visions of the Daughters 
of Albion, and by America, a Prophecy ; both still 
in 1793. In the ensuing year he re-engraved 
Maxman's designs (which had previously been 
treated by Piroli) from the Odyssey — his style of 
engraving being at this time distinguished from 
that of most other practitioners by a much greater 
proportion of etching. It was not till after an 
interval of many years — 1817 — that he again 
engraved after Flaxman, the Worhs and Days of 
Hesiod. In 1794 he also issued Europe, a Prophecy 
(being a sequel to the America), and The Booh of 
TJrizen, Part I., as well as a small quarto volume 
containing twenty-three engraved and coloured 
designs, without letter-press. 

Towards the same time he made the acquaint- 
ance of Mr. Thomas Butts, of Fitzroy Square, 
by far the best purchasing patron whom he ever 
had, and one who (as testified in a letter from 
the grateful designer) "always left him alto- 
gether to his own judgment," which was indeed 



XXX PREFATORT MEMOIR. 

the only conceivable way for getting work out 
of such a man. This gentleman went on for 
nearly thirty years buying the paintings of 
Blake — ordinary water-colours, along with what 
the artist termed tempera-pictures or frescoes; 
for oil, after a few experiments (dictated, as he 
said, by demons such as Titian and Oorreggio), 
was a vehicle which he utterly eschewed. He 
would not even tolerate the historical account of 
the invention of oil-colours, in their. modern appli- 
cation, by John van Eyck (or more properly by 
his elder brother, Hubert), but denounced this as a 
** silly story and known falsehood," and termed the 
process a "villainy" for which Kubens or Yandyck 
was accountable. " Oil was not used, except by 
blundering ignorance, till after Yandyck' s time." 
Mr. Butts, at the end of 1805, engaged Blake, 
at the pay of £26. 5s. per annum, to teach drawing 
to his son ; he would sometimes take from the 
artist a drawing per week, and continued his 
commissions, more or less, up to the year 1822 or 
thereabouts. At last he fell off, and almost lost 
sight of his old friend when age and penury were 
weighing heavy upon him ; it appears that he 
found it increasingly difficult to avoid offending 
Blake, whose sense of independence smarted at 
the slightest touch of interference or advice, and 
found expression, at times, in very outspoken and 
intolerant terms. Something also may have been 
due to the fact that the house of Mr. Butts was 
then already crammed with the painter's works. ^ 

^ Mr. Butts (as stated in Mr. Gilchrist's book, vol. i. 
p. 115) was the authority for the now often- repeated story 
that Blake, and his wife were found by the narrator sitting 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXI 

The year 1795 witnessed the completion of the 
*' Prophetic Books " regarding the four quarters 
of the globe — Africa and Asia having now been 
published, under the general title of The Song of 
Los. This Mame may, however, with more pro- 
priety be regarded as comprehending the America 
and Europe as well ; for " Los " (in Blake's 
arbitrary and seldom interpretable nomenclature) 
is " Time," as Mr. Swinburne, diving into the 
" sunless and sonorous gulfs " of the Jerusalem, 
has succeeded in finding out, not a little to the 
advantage of the dozen or so of people who possess 
some dim acquaintance with this class of Blake's 
writings. The Booh of Ahania followed, also in 
1795, and may count as constituting the second 
Part of the otherwise uncontinued Urizen, Amid 
all this hurtle of amazing design, and welter of 
baffling prophecy, Blake continued his plodding 
work as an engraver after other artists, eminent 
or undistinguished, varied occasionally by some 
works of his own. One of these was issued in 
1794, inscribed EzeJciel ; TaJce away from thee the 

naked in the summer-house of their Hercules Buildings home, 
and that the painter called out — *' Come in ! It's only Adam 
and Eve, you know." This practice was repeated, it is 
alleged, more than once. Mr. Linnell, however, (see Mr. 
Swinburne's book, p. 299) peremptorily denies that such a 
transaction ever took place. It must be admitted, looking 
(if nothing else) to the question of dates, that the fact might 
have occurred, without Mr. Linnell's knowing, by any 
possibility, anything about it, one way or the other. The 
anecdote, however, has a mythic air ; it has already been re- 
tailed oftener than was needful for such a triviality, in the 
case of so lofty a man as Blake ; and, though I have not 
deemed it well to pass the matter over in total silence, I 
think the time has come when a foot-note, joined to a caveat 
against too implicit credence, amply suffices for it. 



XXXli PREFATOHY MEMOIR. 

desire of thine eyes (the death of the prophet's 
wife). Another is from Joh — " What is man, that 
thou shouldst try him every moment?" The 
figures in these prints are the largest that Blake 
ever engraved. One of the most important com- 
missions which he at any time received (though 
insignificant in point of remuneration, being pro- 
bably only £1. Is. per plate, design and engraving) 
was that for illustrating Young's Night Thoughts. 
This re-edition was undertaken in 1796 by Mr. 
Edwards, the publisher in 'New Bond Street. 
Part I. appeared in the Autumn of 1797, going up 
to the end of the Fourth Mght, and containing 
forty-three engraved designs ; an explanation of 
the subjects, not written by Blake himself, was 
published along with them. The project was not 
encouraged by the public, and no second part ever 
came out.^ 

In the first year of the nineteenth century 
a change came over Blake's manner of life. 
Elaxman had introduced him to Mr. Hayley, the 
author of that feeble drizzle of verse the Triumjphs 
of Tem^per, and of other works which shared, along 
with that, the lavish commendations of the critical 
in those days. William Hayley was a country 

® As these pages are passing through the press, I observe, 
in the AthencBum for the 14th March 1874, an advertise- 
ment inserted by Mr. H. W. Birtwhistle, Halifax. As it 
gives a more precise account than I had ever seen elsewhere 
of Blake's work for the Night Thoughts, I add it here : — 
*^ Young^s Night Thoughts, with the 537 original coloured 
drawings, by Blake. 2 vols., 21 inches by 16, red morocco. 
The letter-press, 8f bj^ 6^ inches, occupies the centre of each 
page; and around each page is the drawing, enclosed in a 
ruled and coloured border. The drawings are clean, perfect,. 
and the colours are bright and fresh as when first put on," 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXlll 

gentleman of some fortune, having a seat at Ear- 
tham in Sussex, not far from Bognor : lie delighted 
to style himself " the Hermit of Eartham." He 
had some good qualities, to which the misdeed of 
writing unreadable verses, and of getting contem- 
poraries to read them with plaudits, ought not to 
blind us. He was gifted with amiability, willing- 
ness to oblige, the love and the habit of culture 
according to his lights. Hayley, now aged fifty- 
six, undertook to write a Life of his friend Cowper, 
who had died in this same year 1800 (25 April) ; 
and Blake was proposed as engraver of the illus- 
trations to the work. He willingly closed with 
the offer; partly (as he himself has recorded) 
because in London Fuseli, the bookseller Johnson, 
and others, made *^ great objections to my doing 
anything but the mere drudgery of business, and 
intimations that, if I do not confine myself to this, 
I shall not live." For the purpose now in ques- 
tion, it was arranged that Blake should dwell at 
Eelpham, a sea- side village adjacent to Eartham. 
This latter place had now been let by Hayley, wha 
was himself also living at Felpham in a turreted 
" marine cottage " of his own construction. Blake 
took another and very ordinary cottage, still 
standing, at a rent of £20 a year ; his only 
sister, as well as his wife, lived with him there, 
though in general, it would seem, she was sup- 
ported by her other brother James. Blake was at 
first exceedingly delighted with Felpham, its in- 
habitants, his personal position and prospects, his 
cottage, its splendid sea-view and general sur- 
roundings. A letter which he addressed to Flax- 
man on the 21st of September 1800 has often 
been printed; but, as it is the most readily available 



XXXIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

among the very few letters which remain to us 
from the same hand, it must once again reappear 
in our pages. 

*^ Deae Sculptoe op Eteenity, 

" We are safe arrived at our cottage, which is 
more beautiful than I thought it, and more con- 
venient. It is a perfect model for cottages, and 
I think for palaces of magnificence — only en- 
larging, not altering, its proportions, and adding 
ornaments and not principles. Nothing can be 
more grand than its simplicity and usefulness. 
Simple without intricacy, it seems to be the spon- 
taneous expression of humanity, congenial to the 
wants of man. JSTo other-formed house can ever 
please me so well ; nor shall I ever be persuaded, 
I believe, that it can be improved either in beauty 
or use. 

"Mr. Hayley received us with his usual bro- 
therly afiection. I have begun to work. Felpham 
is a sweet place for study, because it is more 
spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on 
all sides her golden gates ; her windows are not 
obstructed by vapours ; voices of celestial inhabi- 
tants are more distinctly heard, and their forms 
more distinctly seen ; and my cottage is also a 
shadow of their houses. My wife and sister are 
both well, courting J^eptune for an embrace. 

" Our journey was very pleasant, and, though 
we had a great deal of luggage, no grumbling. All 
was cheerfulness and good-humour on the road; 
and yet we could not arrive at our cottage before 
half-past eleven at night, owing to the necessary 
shifting of our luggage from one chaise to ano- 
ther — for we had seven difierent chaises, and 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXV 

as many different drivers. We set out between 
six and seven in the morning of Thursday, 
with sixteen heavy boxes and 'portfolios full of 
prints. 

" And now begins a new life, because another 
covering of earth is shaken off. I am more famed 
in heaven for my works than I could well con- 
ceive. In my brain are studies and chambers 
filled with books and pictures of old, which I 
wrote and painted in ages of eternity before my 
mortal life ; and these works are the delight 
and study of archangels. Why then should I be 
anxious about the riches or fame of mortality? 
The Lord our Father will do for us and with us 
according to His divine will, for our good. 

" You, dear Flaxman, are a sublime archangel 
— my friend and companion from eternity. In 
the divine bosom is our dwelling-place, I look 
back into the regions of reminiscence, and behold 
our ancient days before this earth appeared in its 
vegetated mortality to my mortal vegetated eyes. 
I see our houses of eternity, which can never be 
separated, though our mortal vehicles should stand 
at the remotest corners of heaven from each other. 

*^ Farewell, my best friend. Eemember me and 
my wife in love and friendship to our dear Mrs. 
Flaxman, whom we ardently desire to entertain 
beneath our thatched roof of rusted gold. And 
believe me for ever to remain your grateful and 
affectionate 

" William Blake. 
"Felphara, September 2lst 1800, Sunday morning." 

In a different letter we find Blake saying: " One 
thing of real consequence I have accomplished by 



XXXVl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

coming into the country, which is to me con- 
solation enough ; namely, I have re-collected all 
my scattered thoughts on art, and resumed my 
primitive and original ways of execution in both 
painting and engraving, which, in the confusion 
of London, I had very much lost and obliterated 
from my mind." 

At the end of 1801 Hayley began some 
Ballads on Anecdotes relating to Animals, which 
Blake illustrated : the proceeds of sale, if any 
there were, went to the artist by the author's 
good-will. Most of his working hours, always 
most industriously filled up, were spent in the 
literary squire's house. The illustrations for the 
projected Life of Gowper were engraved in due 
course; and in 1803 some designs which Maria 
Flaxman, the sculptor's sister, had produced in 
illustration of the Triumphs of Temper : these 
remained unpublished until 1807. Miniature- 
painting also now occupied Blake to some small 
extent: he produced a portrait, in this style, of 
the Eev. John Johnson, Oowper's cousin, and 
others of some of the neighbouring gentry, to 
whom Hayley introduced him. Generally, he 
accepted whatever commissions came in his way, 
apposite to his powers or otherwise : one however, 
oflPered to him through Hayley' s introduction, he 
declined — that of painting a set of hand-screens 
for a lady. He learned something of Greek 
during his connection with the Hermit: and it 
may here be observed that the extreme meagre- 
ness of his early schooling was supplemented 
afterwards by some smattering of Latin, and by 
studying French sufficiently to read that language, 
and also, at the age of sixty, as much Italian as 
was needed for skimming Dante. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXVll 

It must not be supposed, however, that all 
went smooth with Blake at Felpham. Among 
the few of his extant letters are ten addressed to 
his attached friend Mr. Butts ; some of these 
show how sorely, after a while, the fiery idealist 
chafed under Hayley's patronage — his " genteel 
ignorance and polite disapprobation," his "afiected 
contempt" and "afiected loftiness." He demurred 
to Blake's style of working, both in desigii and 
in poetry; and, shortly before the date of the 
painter's letter of 6 July 1803, there had evidently 
been a "scene" between the two ill-assorted colla- 
horateurs, Blake, in his own view at least, had 
had the better of this. He had been set at liberty 
by his spiritual friends, after a long period of 
probation, "to remonstrate against former con- 
duct, and to demand justice and truth ; which (he 
adds) I have done in so efiectual a manner that 
my antagonist is silenced completely, and I have 
compelled what should have been of freedom — 
my just right as an artist and as a man." In any 
connection of this sort, between men so radically 
and irremediably unlike, a time is pretty sure to 
come when each considers himself rather scurvily 
used by the other : each sees so clearly the 
justice and urgency of his own cause, and is by 
the very constitution of his mind so unable to 
discern any plausibility in the pleas put forward 
by the opposite party. We cannot therefore be 
in the least surprised that Blake became incensed 
against Hay ley ; but in justice to the latter we 
shall do well to remember that the painter's earlier 
letters had spoken of him in very different terms ; 
for instance (10 May 1801, after an experience 
of nearly a year and a half) — " Mr. Hayley acts 
like a prince ; I am at complete ease." 



XXXVlll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

While Blake was irritated against Hayley, there 
occurred a strange matter-of-fact interruption to 
the course of so imaginative and esoteric a life. 
This again gave Hayley an opportunity of proving 
the substantial kindliness of his feeling ; nor was 
Blake slow to acknowledge as much, and to with- 
draw, in a subsequent letter to Mr. Butts, the harsh- 
ness of his animadversions upon the Hermit of 
Eartham. In truth, after making every allowance 
for Blake, we may not irrationally conclude that 
the good-humour of the Hermit also had at times 
been rather strained by the author of Jerusalem — 
a man who afl&rmed himself to be " under the 
direction of messengers from heaven, daily and 
nightly." If Hayley always managed to keep his 
temper, those " Triumphs '^ which his goose-quill 
had celebrated in exalted verse had now been 
further signalized by his own deportment. — Blake 
himself shall relate for us the vexatious and 
anomalous incident which befell him in the 
August of 1803. 

*' I am at present in a bustle to defend myself 
against a very unwarrantable warrant from a 
Justice of Peace in Chichester, which was taken 
out against me by a private in Captain Leathes' 
troop of 1st or Eoyal Dragoons, for an assault 
and seditious words. The wretched man has 
terribly perjured himself, as has his comrade; 
for, as to sedition, not one word relating to the 
King or Government was spoken by either him 
or me. His enmity arises from my having turned 
him out of my garden, into which he was invited 
as an assistant by a gardener at work therein, 
without my knowledge that he was so invited. 
I desired him, as politely as possible, to go out of 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXIX 

the garden : he made me an impertinent answer. 
I insisted on his leaving the garden : he refused. 
I still persisted in desiring his departure. He 
then threatened to knock out my eyes, with many 
abominable imprecations, and with some contempt 
for my person : it affronted my foolish pride. I 
therefore took him by the elbows, and pushed him 
before me till I had got him out. There I intended 
to have left him ; but he, turning about, put him- 
self into a posture of defiance, threatening and 
swearing at me. I, perhaps foolishly and perhaps 
not, stepped out at the gate, and, putting aside 
his blows, took him again by the elbows, and, 
keeping his back to me, pushed him forward down 
the road about fifty yards — he all the while en- 
deavouring to turn round and strike me, and 
raging and cursing, which drew out several 
neighbours. At length, when I had got him to 
where he was quartered, which was very quickly 
done, we were met at the gate by the master of 
the house, the Fox Inn, who is the proprietor of 
my cottage, and his wife and daughter, and the 
man's comrade, and several other people. My 
landlord compelled the soldiers to go indoors, 
after many abusive threats against me and my 
wife from the two soldiers ; but not one word of 
threat on account of sedition was uttered at that 
time. This method of revenge was planned be- 
tween them after they had got together into the 
stable. I have for witnesses [five persons, present 
at the time, who will disprove the allegation as to 
use of any seditious words]. I have been forced 
to find bail. Mr. Hayley was kind enough to 
come forward, and Mr. Seagrave, printer at Chi- 
chester : Mr. H. in £100, and Mr. S. in £50. . . 



xl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

I have heard that my accuser is a disgraced 
sergeant : his name is John Scholfield." 

Blake's trial came on at the Chichester Quarter 
Sessions on the 11th of January 1804. He was 
charged with ** having uttered seditious and 
treasonable expressions, such as * Damn the King, 
damn all his subjects, damn his soldiers, they are 
all slaves : when Bonaparte comes, it will be cut- 
throat for cut-throat, and the weakest must go 
to the wall : I will help him,' &c., &c." Hayley, 
though suffering from a severe accident in riding, 
attended and spoke up for the defendant's cha- 
racter; and a vigorous cross-examination damaged 
the principal witness for the prosecution. The 
result was an acquittal, which was received with 
the applause of the auditory. Blake, mindful of 
the republican and anti-warlike sentiments enter- 
tained by himself, and of the many instances in 
which he had made these prominent, as in the 
case of Paine, was wont to aver that the soldier 
must have been sent by the Government or some 
person in authority to entrap him. This the 
reader may not be disposed to believe ; but it is 
certainly rather curious that the soldier, if his 
encounter with Blake was wholly fortuitous and 
unplanned, should have hit upon that very sort 
of accusation against him, and have untruthfully 
charged him with using that very sort of lan- 
guage, which his antecedents rendered 'prima fade 
probable. 

The patronage of Hayley, the sojourn at Felp- 
ham, were now played out: they had become 
irksome to a genius and a character in which 
compromise found no place, and early in 1804 
Blake returned to London. "The visions were 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. xli 

angry with me at Felpham," was a phrase of his 
in after years ; and the letters which he had 
addressed from that village to Mr. Butts leave 
no doubt that considerations of that kind were 
very prominent at the time in determining his 
resolve. It had turned out that at Felpham 
*' voices of celestial inhabitants were not more 
distinctly heard, nor their forms more distinctly 
seen," than in London, spite of the conviction 
expressed in Blake's letter to Flaxman already 
quoted. He took lodgings on the first floor of 
ISTo. 17 South Molton Street, Oxford Street ; and 
soon issued thence the astounding scriptures 
which he had been elaborating at Felpham, 
named respectively Jerusalem, the Emanation of 
the Giant Albion, and Milton, a Poem in Two 
BooJcs, These works were not milk for babes, 
nor stirabout for Hayleys. In the preface to the 
Jerusalem, Blake speaks of that composition as 
having been "dictated" to him; and other ex- 
pressions of his prove that he regarded it rather 
as a revelation of which he was the scribe than as 
the product of his own inventing and fashioning 
brain. Blake considered it " the grandest poem 
that this world contains;" adding, " I may praise 
it, since I dare not pretend to be any other than 
the secretary — the authors are in eternity." In 
an earlier letter (25th April 1803) he had said : *< I 
have written this poem from immediate dictation, 
twelve or sometimes twenty or thirty lines at a 
time, without premeditation, and even against my • 
will." 

The Jerusalem and the Milton are the last of 
the " Prophetic Books," properly to be so called, 
that ever saw the light, though not the last that 

d 



xlii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

Blake wrote. So curt a performance as the Ghost 
of Abel (issued in 1822), being besides devoid of 
pictorial design to accompany its words, cannot 
be taken into account; moreover, it appears to 
have been composed and engraved as far back as 
1788. Others — scores of MSS., a larger mass 
than the writings of Shakspeare and Milton 
united — were produced, but no publisher could 
be obtained for them. " Well," Blake would say- 
after some futile application, "it is published 
elsewhere, and beautifully bound ! " According 
to himself, he had done six or seven epics as 
long as Homer, and twenty tragedies as long as 
Macbeth — an assertion not perhaps to be accepted 
literally. One of his writings is referred to by 
Mr. Crabb Eobinson under the term " a Vision of 
Genesis, as understood by a Christian Yisionary." 
It was not destined that Blake should go on 
writing, as author or as amanuensis, such works 
as the Jerusalem and the Milton^ in entire solitude 
of aspiration, of mind, and of habit of work. In 
the year 1805 he got connected with a speculator 
who was to play fast and loose with his material 
interests, and (had he not been protected by un- 
shaken firmness) with his self-respect as well. 
Mr. Eobert Hartley Cromek, a native of York- 
shire, had given over the practice of engraving 
for the position of a print-jobber and book-maker, 
and was now about to make his first venture as a 
publisher. He started schemes of work, enlisted 
co-operation, vamped up volumes, and pocketed 
proceeds. Keen as he was, he could be taken in : 
Allan Cunningham palmed ofi" upon him some 
of his own spirited ballads as genuine relics of 
popular song. Commonly, however, the function 
of Mr. Cromek was not that of being taken in by 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. xliii 

others, but rather the converse, and the unworldly- 
minded Blake was doomed to experience his sharp 
practice, and to resent it bitterly enough, but not 
the less helplessly. In 1804 and 1805 Blake had 
produced a series of designs appropriate to that 
arid yet in some sense forcible poem, Blair's Grave, 
which in those days enjoyed a reputation not easy 
for us now to conceive. He had himself intended 
to engrave and publish these very fine designs ; 
but Cromek, having made his acquaintance, and 
finding him in extremely narrow circumstances 
(living, as the Yorkshireman afterwards averred, 
on half-a-guinea a week for himself and his wife), 
bought the whole series of twelve for the petty 
sum of £21. Small, miserably small, as this 
amount obviously is, it was not much out of 
character with the prices (one guinea to one 
guinea and a half) which Blake usually received 
for drawings or water-colours. So far, therefore, 
the bargain was an endurable one; but only on 
the express understanding that the engraving 
also should be Blake's proper handiwork, and 
paid for, of course, at an ordinary rate. That 
there was such an express though unwritten 
understanding does not admit of any real doubt : 
the prospectus issued by Cromek showed as much, 
and Blake did in fact engrave one or two of the 
designs in the first instance. But Cromek did 
not think Blake's style of engraving so likely to 
attract the public, and to " pay," as that of some 
other artists. He therefore, in gross breach of 
faith and to the destruction of Blake's well- 
grounded expectations of remunerative employ- 
ment, transferred the engraving-work to another 
man, and truly a very competent one, Lewis 



xliv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

Schiavonetti, a pupil of Bartolozzi. Neither as a 
question of generosity nor even of simple honesty- 
can the slightest excuse be suggested for this 
high-handed proceeding ; the utmost that can be 
said on Cromek's side is that, as Schiavonetti's 
engravings were likely to prove more popular 
than Blake's, the credit arising from the joint 
work would redound partly to the designer, and 
would thus to some extent indemnify him for the 
loss of the profit of engraving, and give him a 
better chance of fair prices for future designs. 
Nor was this the only grievance that Cromek 
inflicted upon Blake with regard to the Blair 
work. An ofiensively insolent letter which he 
addressed to the painter in May 1807, refusing to 
pay the moderate sum of £4. 4s., at which the latter 
had priced a design for the Dedication of the work 
(accepted by Queen Charlotte), may be read in 
Mr. Gilchrist's book, reprinted from the Gentle- 
man's Magazine. In that letter, we may observe, 
Cromek has the grace to admit that the twelve 
designs for the Grave were properly worth at 
least £63; but this is indeed graceless grace, 
considering that he only paid £21, cozened Blake 
out of his right of engraving the works, and 
finally refused so poor a boon as this supple- 
mentary £4. 4s. The book was published in the 
autumn of 1808, 589 subscribers having been 
obtained at £2. 12s. Qd, each: Cromek's profits 
included likewise the money accruing from proof 
and extra copies. The well-known portrait of 
Blake by Phillips was engraved as a frontispiece 
to the volume, which may too truthfully be 
termed the only work of his which ever found a 
public during his lifetime. At all periods of his 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. xlv 

career he had some admirers, and in his later 
years a few much younger men might almost be 
regarded as his proselytes or reverential disciples : 
in the present instance he once — and once only 
— secured some moderate instalment of general 
reputation. 

Mr. Cromek's misdemeanours against Blake did 
not terminate with the affair of the Blair designs. 
In a second transaction he acted still more foully, 
if we are to believe Blake's account of the matter; 
and I cannot see why we should not credit it, 
although the evidence may be somewhat more 
indistinct. While Schiavonetti was progressing 
with his engraving work, Cromek called one day 
on Blake, and saw a pencil drawing which the 
latter had made of Chaucer's Canterhury Pilgrims 
on their road ; and he gave Blake a commission 
to execute the design — so at least the painter con- 
sidered. But Cromek, who had in reality wished, 
and wished in vain, to obtain a finished drawing 
of the subject from Blake, to be again engraved by 
some one else, now threw the artist over alto- 
gether. Such a bidding from Cromek was indeed 
not likely to be entertained ; for Blake's friends 
had already circulated, or about this time did put 
forward, a prospectus with a view to the engraving 
of this very work by Blake himself, by subscrip- 
tion. Cromek went off to Stothard, and suggested 
the same subject to him; an oil-picture to cost £63, 
and to be engraved. Stothard consented, pro- 
ceeded with his task, and did not withhold the 
work, during its progress, from Blake's own in- 
spection; a circumstance which may fortunately 
be construed as indicating that he was not 
aware of the fraud upon his friend's right of 



3dvi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

inventive priority, to which he had become a party. 
Maxman believed that Stothard was not a wilful 
misdoer in this matter: and that may not impro- 
bably have been one principal motive for the out- 
bursts against Flaxman himself which one finds 
written by Blake in epigrammatic verse and other- 
wise. He, when he learned the precise state of 
the facts, blazed forth in indignation. His wrath 
was rightfully directed against Cromek ; right- 
fully perhaps to some extent — at any rate naturally 
— against Stothard, his old and familiar acquaint- 
ance. This was the great cause, though not 
strictly the only incidental occasion, of his breach 
of friendship with Stothard — who also, on his 
part, assumed the tone of an aggrieved man, 
suffering under unjust and unhandsome impu- 
tations. The breach was never closed. Several 
years afterwards Blake — generous and placable 
at heart, though he had openly spoken his mind 
against his antagonist to all sorts of people-: — met 
him at a gathering of artists, and held out his 
hand for reconciliation ; Stothard refused it. He 
also called to see Stothard when the latter was 
ill, but admittance was not vouchsafed him. 

The sequel of Cromek's commission to Stothard 
for the Canterhury Filgrimage is well known. The 
picture — natural, if debility were the natural 
thing for such a subject, and agreeable if one 
chooses to condone the emasculation of Chaucer 
— was completed, and publicly exhibited, in May 
1807, to many thousands of visitors ; and, after a 
considerable interval (Cromek having died mean- 
while), the engraving made its appearance, and 
became immensely popular. As regards Blake 
also this thorny afiair had its sequel. Fired by 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. xlvii 

seeing, at the end of the Blair's Grave, a prospectus 
announcing Stothard's Canterhury Pilgrimage, 
Blake completed his picture (of the class that he 
termed "fresco") of the same subject, and re- 
solved to exhibit it, along with other pictures 
and water-colours. The exhibition was opened 
in May 1809, on the first floor of No. 28 Broad 
Street, the natal home of Blake, and still the 
shop of his brother the hosier. He drew up a 
Descriptive Catalogue of the works. This is one 
of the most singular and entertaining examples 
of his prose writing, and includes an admirable 
tribute to the greatness of Chaucer as the classi- 
fier and pourtrayer of human character, for his 
own age and for all ages : in truth, it cannot be 
said that one knows Blake thoroughly until 
after perusing the Descriptive Catalogue, The 
admission-fee to the exhibition, including the 
catalogue, was half-a-crown : the visitors were 
next to none. Blake then issued a prospectus 
for engraving his picture of The Canterbury Pil- 
grims, of which Mr. Butts became the possessor, 
the price to subscribers being £4 4iS. The sub- 
scribers proved scanty; but the engraving, begun 
in the autumn of 1809, was brought out in October 
1810, considerably preceding the print from his 
rival Stothard. The two productions are no less 
unlike than the two men. Blake's is as unat- 
tractive as Stothard's is facile, as hard and 
strong as Stothard's is limp ; one face in Blake's 
design means as much on the part of the artist, 
and takes as much scrutiny and turning-over of 
thought on the part of the spectator, as all the 
pretty fantoccini and their sprightly little horses 
in Stothard's work, from first to last. Be this 



xlviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

said without any undervaluing of the numerous 
and excellent gifts of this charming designer — 
gifts which make many of his works precious 
indeed, and confer no despicable value upon this 
very picture of the Canterhury Pilgrimage, 

Always unsuccessful with the public and with 
patrons, Blake became still more so after this 
tussle with Cromek and Stothard. He suf- 
fered in mind and temper, not to speak of purse ; 
people steered clear of him, and with increasing 
emphasis pronounced him mad. Towards 1813, 
however, he was introduced to a new, and (as it 
proved) a most true and valuable, friend ; and 
gradually, through the latter, to that circle of 
attached and often enthusiastic acquaintances with 
whom he was chiefly conversant in his declining 
years, and who, had he needed any such aid, would 
have powerfully contributed to keep him in heart 
and hope. The friend here referred to is Mr. 
John Linnell the landscape-painter, who still 
lives among us, and continues to sustain (as 
nobly as any of our masters, after allowing for 
Turner as the one without parallel) the great 
name of our school in this branch of art. It was 
Mr. George Cumberland, of Bristol, who brought 
Blake and Linnell together. The latter (we are 
speaking of full sixty years ago) was then a strug- 
gling young man, turning his hand to many sorts 
of artistic work — principally to portrait-painting. 
He engraved several of his productions of this 
class ; and Blake was associated with him in 
some of these prints, which the elder artist would 
begin, and the junior finish. Through Mr. Lin- 
nell, the water-colour painters, John Varley, 
Richter, and Holmes, became known to Blake : 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. xlix 

the latter two had some influence upon him in 
deepening the scale of colour in his water-colour 
works. It was with Yarley, however, that Blake 
had the most intercourse. This gentleman, 
Blake's junior by twenty years, besides being a 
landscape-painter of uncommon merit, was an 
adept in astrology; he even received fees for 
calculating nativities, and some very singular 
instances are related of the fulfilment of his 
prognostications. Naturally such a man must 
have been greatly attracted towards Blake, with 
his faculty of imaginative vision, and Blake 
towards him. The Visionary Heads drawn by 
Blake, of which much has been said by all his 
few biographers, were executed at Yarley ^s house, 
and in his presence: Mr. Linnell possesses 
thirty -six of them, including that unique subject 
" The Ghost of a Flea." As it is important to 
understand the mood of mind in which Blake 
produced these works, and as the condensation of 
details could hardly be carried beyond what has 
been done by Mr. Gilchrist, I will here avail 
myself of that author's words : — 

" Yarley it was who encouraged Blake to take 
authentic sketches of certain among his most 
frequent spiritual visitants. The visionary faculty 
was so much under control that at the wish of 
a friend he could summon before his abstracted 
gaze any of the familiar forms and faces he was 
asked for. This was during the favourable and 
befitting hours of night, from nine or ten in the 
evening until one or two, or perhaps three or four, 
o'clock in the morning ; Yarley sitting by, * some- 
times slumbering and sometimes waking.' Yarley 
would say * Draw me Moses,' or David ; or would 



1 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

call for a likeness of Julius Caesar, or Cassibel- 
launus, or Edward the Third, or some other great 
historical personage. Blake would answer * There 
he is ! ' And, paper and pencil being at hand, he 
would begin drawing with the utmost alacrity 
and composure, looking up from time to time as 
though he had a real sitter before him ; ingenuous 
Yarley meanwhile straining wistful eyes into 
vacancy, and seeing nothing, though he tried hard, 
and at first expected his faith and patience to be 
rewarded by a genuine apparition. A * vision ' 
had a very difierent signification with Blake to 
that it had in literal Yarley's mind. Sometimes 
Blake had to wait for the vision's appearance ; 
sometimes it would come at call. At others, in 
the midst of his portrait, he would suddenly leave 
ofi*, and, in his ordinary quiet tones, and with the 
same matter-of-fact air another might say * It 
rains,' would remark, ' I can't go on — it is gone : 
I must wait till it returns ' ; or ' It has moved, 
the mouth is gone ' ; or ' He frowns — he is dis- 
pleased with my portrait of him.' ... In sober 
daylight, criticisms were hazarded by the profane 
on the character or drawing of these or any of his 
visions. * Oh it's all right,' Blake would calmly 
reply. * It must be right : I saw it so.' It ' did 
not signify what you said : nothing could put him 
out ; so assured was he that he, or rather his im- 
agination, was right, and that what the latter 
revealed was implicitly to be relied on, — and this 
without any appearance of conceit or intrusiveness 
on his part.^^ 

Among the personages whose portraits Blake 
drew in this mode were the Builder of the Pyramids, 
Edward the Third as he exists in the spiritual 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. li 

world, a man who instructed Blake in painting, 
in his dreams, David, Uriah, Bathsheba, Solomon, 
Mahomet, " Joseph and Mary, and the room they 
were seen in," Old Parr at the age of forty, &c. 

In 1821 Blake removed to the house in which 
it was fated that his life should close — ^No. 3 
Fountain Court, Strand, close now to Simpson's 
dining-rooms. Here he occupied the first floor ; 
appropriating one of his two apartments as a re- 
ception-room, while the other was his living-room 
for all purposes — working, studying, cooking, 
dining, sleeping. It has been made a subject of 
controversy whether Blake^s menage was or was 
not, under these circumstances, a " squalid" one. 
To some eyes it did appear so : but one of his 
then youthful and most sincerely attached friends, 
Mr. Samuel Palmer, so deservedly admired now 
as a painter and etcher of landscapes full of 
nature and of poetry, is very emphatic in re- 
pudiating the epithet. *^ It gives," he says, " a 
notion altogether false of the man, his house, and 
his habits. Whatever was in Blake's house, there 
was no squalor. Himself, his wife, and his rooms, 
were clean and orderly ; everything was in its 
place." We may readily accept this as a candid 
and true statement of the matter, viewed by a 
young man free from the habit or the love of 
luxury, and construing everything that regarded 
Blake in the light of the love and enthusiasm 
which so exalted a seer of spiritual things rightly 
commanded from a youthful aspirant and disciple. 
It is the truth, if not the whole truth — of which 
some other aspects were visible to eyes of a dif- 
ferent kind. 

Blake executed in 1820-21 the only woodcuts 



Hi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

that he ever worked upon, seventeen subjects 
designed by himself in illustration of the Pastorals 
of Phillips — rough and brilliant, 'prentice work and 
master's work at once. Towards 1822 he produced 
his first set of twenty-two water-colour paintings 
from the BooTc of Joh : these were about the last 
works of his which his old friend Mr. Butts pur- 
chased. Soon afterwards that gentleman replaced 
the series in the artist's hands, so as to serve as 
an incentive to any other person who might be 
minded to give him a commission, Blake's monetary 
position being at this time very low. Mr. Linnell, 
by a written agreement dated 25th March 1823, en- 
gaged him to paint a duplicate set of the designs, and 
to engrave them. He was to receive £100 for the 
designs and copyright, and a like sum out of any 
proceeds. No proceeds, however, were forthcoming 
from the engravings, the sale of which barely 
covered the expenses : Mr. Linnell, viewing the 
equity of the case in a handsome spirit, presented 
Blake with an extra £50. The engravings from 
Job are executed entirely with the graver, — there 
is no etching. In this respect the artist was 
partly influenced by a more particular study, to 
which Mr. Linnell had lately invited him, of Italian 
engravings of the date of Marcantonio and Bono- 
soni, to the latter of whom Blake paid especial 
heed. The volume of Joh prints was issued in 
March 1826, a year later than the date marked on 
the plates : the price of an ordinary copy was 
£10. 10s. While this work was still going on, to- 
wards the close of 1824, Linnell turned Blake's 
attention to Dante's Divina Gommedia as another 
subject for illustration; and the energetic old 
man set to, learned in a few weeks Italian enough 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. liii 

for his immediate purpose, produced nearly a hun- 
dred water-colours (one of the largest series he 
ever executed), and engraved seven of them to 
boot. The prints came out at the very close of 
his career — the year 1827, in which he died. For 
this work also a sum of £150 had been paid by 
Mr. Linnell by the time of his friend's decease; and 
paid on such easy and accommodating conditions 
that the final months of Blake's life must (it is a 
satisfaction to reflect) have been passed without 
wearing anxiety as to money-matters — though 
indeed he was not wont, under any circumstances, 
to allow such considerations much space in his 
mind. According to this arrangement, he re- 
ceived two or three pounds a week as he wanted 
money, without any sort of pressure as to the 
prompt production of designs or engravings to 
correspond with the successive payments; and, 
with the economical habits of himself and his wife, 
this was amply as much as he found occasion for. 
Another of the. works which occupied him towards 
this time was his large tempera-picture (large for 
Blake, for none of his works was really of very 
considerable size) representing the Last Judgment, 
and containing, it is said, some thousand figures. 
This is at any rate the third instance in which he 
had treated the same overwhelming theme : the 
work seems to have remained unsold at his 
death, and its present whereabouts is uncertain. 

We have now reached the latest stages in the 
life of the exalted visionary, and have little more 
to record save physical sufiering and decay. About 
the first indication that we find of Blake's failing 
health occurs in a letter addressed to Mr. Linnell 
on 10th November 1825, in which he says : " I can- 



Hv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

not get well, and am now in bed, but seem as if I 
should be better to-morrow." Elsewhere we read 
of " his ankles frightfully swelled, his chest dis- 
ordered." He continued subject to frequent and 
painful attacks of cold and dysentery, very gene- 
rally recurring after any visit paid to Linnell at 
Hampstead. Such visits, mostly on Sundays, 
had now become frequent, and were a source of 
great pleasure, not only to the seniors, but also to 
the growing family of small Linnells, to whom 
the aged idealist condescended with paternal 
fondness. But the Hampstead air was inimical 
to him : one of his letters (1st February 1826) 
represents that, even in his youth, he could not 
go to Hampstead, Highgate, or other northern 
suburbs of London, without exposing himself to 
derangements of this kind. Then we hear of 
" another desperate shivering-fit '' (18th May 
1826), and "a deathly feel all over the limbs," re- 
lieved by going to bed, and consequent perspira- 
tion. Another attack came on on the 1st of July 
1827, upon his returning home from Hampstead ; 
this was the final one, or at any rate he never 
rallied from it to much purpose. His physical 
powers waned without great pain at the last, or 
any loss of mental capacity. He was frequently 
bolstered up in bed to go on with the Dante 
designs : a pencil (one pencil at a time for so great 
an artist as Blake ! ) was among his latest pur- 
chases. The very last works of his that have 
been distinctly specified are a coloured example of 
The Ancient of Bays and a sketch of his wife. 
The Ancient of Days " when he set a compass upon 
the face of the earth," one of the figures engraved 
in the Prophecy ofEurojpe, was a favourite design 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Iv 

with Blake. Mr. Tatham had offered three guineas 
and a half for this particular impression, coloured ; 
and, for so comparatively large a price, Blake 
bestowed his heartiest labour upon the finishing 
of the tints. " After he had frequently touched 
upon it," says Mr. Tatham, ** and had frequently 
held it at a distance, he threw it from him, and 
with an air of exulting triumph exclaimed, * There ! 
that will do, — I cannot mend it.'" JSTo sooner 
had he done this than, addressing his devoted 
wife, he said ; '* Stay ! keep as you are. You 
have ever been an angel to me : I will draw you." 
He accordingly made a drawing, described by Mr. 
Tatham as " a frenzied sketch, of some power, — 
highly interesting, but not like." 

This may have been some few days prior to 
the 12th of August 1827, which brought Blake's 
earthly life to a close. On that day (as related 
by Mr. J. T. Smith) "he composed and uttered 
songs to his Maker, so sweetly to the ear of his 
Catharine that, when she stood to hear him, he, 
looking upon her most afiectionately, said — *My 
beloved, they are not mine ! no, they are not 
mine ! ' He told her they would not be parted ; 
he should always be about her to take care of 
her." Another friend relates ; — " He said he 
was going to that country he had all his life 
wished to see, and expressed himself happy, 
hoping for salvation through Jesus Christ. Just 
before he died, his countenance became fair, his 
eyes brightened, and he burst out into singing of 
the things he saw in heaven." Then his breath 
began to fail ; and he died towards six in the 
evening, so calmly that the precise moment of 
his expiring could hardly be fixed. In a manu- 



Ivi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

script account, drawn up by Mr. Tatham, it is 
stated that the cause of death was ascertained to 
be a mixing of the gall with the blood. 

Blake was buried in the Bunhill Fields Ceme- 
tery ; this had been his own wish, as his father 
and other members of the family lay there 
already. The grave-— an unpurchased common 
grave — is unmarked by any memorial, and can- 
not now be traced. He incurred during his life, 
and at his death he left, no debts ; numerous 
unsold specimens of his designs, engravings, and 
engraved books, remained. The sale of these, to 
friendly or admiring purchasers here and there, 
helped to sustain in moderate comfort the declin- 
ing days of good Mrs. Blake, ^ who survived her 
husband about four years — his spirit, as she felt 
and said, being still with her: she died in 
October 1831. At first she had been residing in 
Mr. Linneirs house in Cirencester Place, partly 
in fulfilment of an old but then abandoned pro- 
ject, according to which both she and Blake 
would have lived there rent-free in charge of the 
premises, while Linnell and his family dwelt 
chiefly at Hampstead. Leaving Cirencester 
Place, she had afterwards stayed in Mr. Tatham's 
chambers, under a somewhat similar arrange- 

^ Mrs. Blake, so attractive at the time when the painter 
first saw and loved her, appears to have lost her good looks 
rather early than otherwise. It is said that an acquaint- 
ance who met her again after a lapse of seven years " never 
saw a woman so much altered." The date to which this 
anecdote appertains is not defined : the mention of " seven 
years'' inclines me to suppose that it may belong to the 
year 1794 or 1795, and that the "acquaintance" may have 
been one of the Flaxman family, — as Flaxman returned in 
1794 from a seven years' sojourn in Italy. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ivii 

ment ; and finally had taken lodgings of her own, 
No. 17 Upper Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, 
where her life terminated. Blake's sister, who 
had been domesticated with him in the old days 
at Felpham, survived some years longer ; but no 
particulars regarding her latest period of life 
remain, save the report that she was extremely 
poor. 

Mrs. Blake had bequeathed to one of her most 
constant friends the remaining stock of her hus- 
band's works, and Mr. Gilchrist informs us — 
" They have since been widely dispersed, some de- 
stroyed." ]^ote-books, poems, designs, in lavish 
quantity, annihilated : a gag (as it were) thrust 
into the piteous mouth of Blake^s corpse. The 
fact is — so I have been informed — that Sweden- 
borgians, Irvingites, or other extreme sectaries, 
beset the then youthful custodian of these price- 
less relics, and persuaded him to make a holo- 
caust of them, as being heretical, and danger- 
ous to those poor dear " unprotected females '* 
Eeligion and Morals. The horrescent pietists 
allowed that the works were "inspired;" but 
alas ! the inspiration had come from the Devil. 
The words inscribed by Blake upon that very 
early engraving of his, but with a wholly differ- 
ent intention, recur to our memory — " Such were 
the Christians in all ages." 

3. — Blake's Visions, Pekson, Chaeactee, and 
Intellect. 

Before proceeding to other points bearing upon 
Blake's character, we may as well say here some- 
thing about his visions — a matter which we have 



Iviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

as yet left almost entirely aside, highly impor- 
tant as it is to the understanding of our subject. 
It has been stated that he saw his first vision 
at Peckham Eye, near Dulwich Hill, when he was 
some ten years of age, or less. He then beheld a 
ti'ee filled with angels, their wings of star-like 
brilliancy amid the boughs. But this cannot 
have been his first vision, if we are to rely upon 
a quaint observation made by Mrs. Blake (in or 
about 1826) to Mr. Crabb Eobinson. She said, 
addressing her husband : " You know, dear, the 
first time you saw God was when you were four 
years old ; and he put his head to the window, 
and set you a-screaming." Clearly, after the 
quadrennial Blake had seen the present Deity 
at a window, there remained for him little to 
experience or explore in the way of visionary 
revealings. On another occasion, when still a 
child, he saw angelic figures walking among the 
haymakers. The next instance is a curious one: it 
is not properly a vision, but a prevision or intui- 
tion, and no doubt one might easily lay more 
stress on the slight incident than it is worth. 
The engraver to whom Blake's father first thought 
of apprenticing him was not Basire, but Eyland, 
a man of great distinction at the time, engraver 
to the king, and familiar with many persons of 
the first eminence. Young Blake, however, dis- 
liked the idea of becoming Eyland's apprentice. 
After leaving his house, he said : — " Father, I do 
not like the man's face, — it looks as if he will live 
to be hanged." And, twelve years afterwards, 
so it proved, the ill-starred Eyland was hanged, 
having committed a forgery on the East India 
Company. In Westminster Abbey, when drawing 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. lix 

there as Basire's apprentice, Blake had a vision 
of Christ and the Apostles. At a later date he 
had a habit of speaking which startled many. He 
would say " I am Socrates," or any one else 
whose name and personality might be in question 
— Moses, Isaiah, or other great character. This 
is sufficiently intelligible if one chooses to re- 
member Blake's point of view, even without sup- 
posing that he was a direct adherent of the 
doctrine of metempsychosis. To him, mind 
being the eternal substance, and body only the 
transitory accident, it was open enough to say 
that his own mind, in so far as it possessed a 
real apprehension of Socrates, was identical with 
Socrates — was in truth Socrates ; for Socrates 
himself had been merely a mind housed for a 
short while in a rather different body. To Mr. 
Crabb Eobinson, who first met Blake in Decem- 
ber 1825, he said : "I was Socrates or a sort of 
brother ; I must have had conversations with him. 
So I had with Jesus Christ : I have an obscure 
recollection of having been with both of them." 
Blake, in fact, had a face somewhat, in his old 
age, resembling that of Socrates, and this at 
times was made a subject of remark; but he was 
certainly better-looking than that far from well- 
favoured philosopher. When living in Hercules 
Buildings, he had a vision, not clearly defined to 
us, which hovered over his head at the top of the 
staircase, and inspired him with the grand figure of 
The Ancient of Days, already referred to : it made 
a more powerful impression on his mind than 
any preceding vision. On the same staircase he 
saw a ghost : the only one that he ever did see, 
for such apparitions, he would sometimes say, 



Ix PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

did not often visit imaginative men. It was "a 
horrible grim figure, scaly, speckled, very awful, 
stalking down-stairs," and so frightened our 
painter that he ran out of the house. At Felp- 
ham he held converse with many spirits of a less 
repellent kind — Moses and the Prophets, Homer, 
Dante, Milton : he described them as " all majes- 
tic shadows, grey but luminous, and superior to 
the common height of men.'* Milton appears to 
have been a frequent visitant in later years as 
well. On one occasion, " I tried," said Blake, 
" to convince him he was wrong, but I could not 
succeed. His tastes are Pagan : his house is 
Palladian, not Gothic." At another time he 
afiirmed : "I have seen him as a youth, and as 
an old man with long flowing beard. He came 
lately as an old man. He came to ask a favour 
of me ; said he had committed an error in Tara- 
dise Lost, which he wanted me to correct in a 
poem or picture. But I declined ; I said I had 
my own duties to perform." The error in ques- 
tion was "that carnal pleasures arose from the 
Fall : the Fall" (added Blake) *' could not produce 
any pleasure." With Yoltaire also Blake averred 
that he had had *'much intercourse," and that 
the French philosopher had been commissioned by 
God to bring into discredit the natural sense of the 
Bible, of which, however, Blake accepted and cham- 
pioned the spiritual sense. At Felpham, again, in 
his garden, he saw " a fairy's funeral," of which 
Allan Cunningham gives a little account as if in 
Blake's own spoken words, but how far strictly 
authentic one may feel some doubt. It was ** a 
procession of creatures of the size and colour of 
green and grey grasshoppers, bearing a body 



PREFATOKY MEMOIR. Ixi 

laid out on a rose-leaf, which they buried with 
songs, and then disappeared." In this state- 
ment there may have been at least as much of 
fanciful invention as of mere acquiescence in 
popular superstition. A more decisively super- 
stitious tone of mind appears in Blake's assertion 
that some foul spell of Stothard's had caused the 
almost total effacing of the original pencil drawing 
of the Canterbury Pilgrims, which Blake (after he 
had shown it to Oromek, with the unpleasant sequel 
already related) had hung up over a door in his 
sitting-room, leaving it there, exposed to air and 
dust, for about a year. There is another story 
of an account given by Blake of a meadow in 
which he saw a fold of lambs, which turned out 
to be sculptured, not living, animals. In itself, 
the statement has no importance, and little appa- 
rent meaning of any kind : it is, however, of 
-some interest in connection with the reply which 
Blake gave to a lady who asked him where he had 
descried this sight. " Here, madam," he replied, 
touching his forehead: an answer which serves 
to caution us against supposing that he either 
.accepted as literal facts for himself, or wished to 
convey literally to others, some of the visionary 
or supersensuous incidents of which he made fre- 
quent mention. Here is another of them, more 
than commonly amusing in point of expression, as 
narrated by Blake to Mr. Crabb Eobinson. "You 
never saw the spiritual sun ? I have. I saw him 
on Primrose Hill. He said : * Do you take me for 
the Greek Apollo ? 'No ! That ' (pointing to the 
-sky) *that is the Greek Apollo : he is Satan ! ' " 
That Blake believed in the truth of his visions 
lis abundantly evident : whether he also believed 



Ixii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

in their actual objective reality is a diJSerent ques- 
tion. I should, however, be minded to answer it 
in the affirmative, in many instances ; but it 
should always be recollected that the terms ap- 
plicable to bodily realities, according to which we 
speak of them as present de facto and having a phy- 
sical subsistence, are not properly or fully relevant 
to mental or spiritual realities. A few of Blake's 
own words (from the Descfijptive Catalogue) may 
be very fittingly introduced here. " The Prophets 
describe what they saw in vision as real and 
existing men, whom they saw with their imagina- 
tive and immortal organs ; the Apostles the same. 
The clearer the organ, the more distinct the object. 
A spirit and a vision are not, as the modern philo- 
sophy supposes, a cloudy vapour or a nothing; they 
are organized and minutely articulated beyond 
all that the mortal and perishing nature can 
produce. He who does not imagine in stronger 
and better lineaments, and in stronger and 
better light, than his perishing mortal eye can 
see, does not imagine at all. The painter of 
this work asserts that all his imaginations appear 
to him infinitely more perfect and more minutely 
organized than anything seen by his mortal eye. 
Spirits are organized men." Blake had a mental 
intuition, inspiration, or revelation, — call it what 
we will ; it was as real to his spiritual eye as 
a material object could be to his bodily eye : 
and no doubt his bodily eye, the eye of a 
designer and painter with a great gift of in- 
vention and composition, was far more than 
normally ready at following the dictate of the 
spiritual eye, and seeing, with an almost instan- 
taneously creative and fashioning act, the visual 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixiii 

semblance of the visionary essence. Blake thus, 
in a certain not solely metaphorical sense, ver- 
itably saw the vision; and, with his imperious, 
emphatic, and uncompromising mode of speech, he 
would naturally speak of it as real, without any 
of those saving clauses, or qualifying concessions 
to his hearer, which another man would have 
introduced. But in fact I have understated it in 
saying that the mental intuition *' was as real to 
his spiritual eye as a material object could be to 
his bodily eye." It was much more real. To Blake 
in very deed, as to how many others in theory or 
in professed belief, the spiritual was the reality, 
and the physical was the phantasm — a fleeting 
and unsubstantial illusion, connate and coetaneous 
with the bodily five senses. These were, for Blake, 
the untrue reporters about ambiguous simulacra ; 
while the mind was a true criterion and recorder 
of truths, and the self-evidence of their verity. 
That he had held converse with Milton — his 
mind with Milton's mind, his perceptive faculty 
with Milton's perceptibility — this was a mental 
truth, therefore, in the full sense of the word, 
a truth. On the other hand, that he held con- 
verse with Mr. Crabb Bobinson concerning 
Milton, that his vocal organs uttered sounds 
of which Mr. Kobinson's auditory sense took 
cognizance, and that his bodily eyes saw the 
external frame of Mr. Eobinson, — that was but 
a sensory exercise or impression, an evanescent 
accident, phssnomenal not essential. 

This is, I think, the intrinsic truth about 
Blake's visions, although it is difficult to express 
the exact degree in which, according to his per- 
sonal impressions and convictions at least, the 



Lxiv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

appearances presented themselves to him spon- 
taneously and unbidden, apart from any self- 
conscious exercise of imagination or formative 
power. In such a case, the more active the man 
himself is, and the more prolific his imagination 
has been in producing the visions, so likewise the 
more passive does he become : the visions are 
invested, out of his own vital force, with a 
vitality proper to themselves, and dominate their 
originator. They had been his objects : he is 
now their subject. Blake conceived a vision : in 
conceiving it, he saw it : inasmuch! as he saw 
it, he believed in it : and, believing in it, he 
spoke of it in terms which affirmed — and neces- 
sarily so, according to his intellectual creed — its 
real existence. Had he been a different man, 
all these stages of the affair would also have been 
different ; but, such as he was, he expressed 
himself simply and truthfully. It might be 
noted moreover that his general mode of life, 
and especially the abstemious habits to which 
poverty as well as inclination conduced, were 
peculiarly likely to foster the visionary tendency, 
and to convert cogitations into perceptions. 

In person Blake was below the middle height, 
his stature being hardly five feet and a half. He 
was of robust though rather slender make, and 
fearless spirit : one instance of which we have 
already seen in the very summary treatment 
which he applied to the soldier who had entered 
his garden, and who, in revenge, accused him of 
seditious speech. Another instance was an on- 
slaught of uttermost energy and instantaneous 
success which he committed on some rascal who 
was battering his wife in the St. Giles district. 
His dress was simple, and one may well suppose 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixv 

that it was mostly rather shabby than otherwise, 
though there was nothing in it to attract particular 
notice out of doors : Mr. Palmer, referring to the 
year 1823 or 1824, speaks of " Blake in his plain 
black suit, and rather broad-brimmed but not 
quakerish hat; " he continued wearing knee- 
breeches to the last. The same friend says : — 
** His eye was the finest I ever saw ; brilliant but 
not roving, clear and intent yet susceptible : it 
flashed with genius, or melted in tenderness. 
It could also be terrible ; cunning and falsehood 
quailed under it. JSTor was the mouth less ex- 
pressive, — the lips flexible, and quivering with 
feeling." He was short-sighted, and his eyes were 
prominent, as usual in such cases ; but he wore 
glasses only occasionally. The head was massive, 
the brow full and rounded ; it might have been 
deemed to surge and heave with what was within. 
The nose has been termed " insignificant as to 
size ; " but I cannot say that this appears to me 
to be shown either by the portrait which Phillips 
painted, or by the sketch done by Blake himself 
which may be seen in Mr. Gilchrist's book. In the 
latter likeness especially the nose is of ample size, 
as are all the other features proportionately — the 
mouth being the least full. Mr. Eobinson has 
spoken of " the sweetness of his countenance, and 
gentility of his manner," which, as he says, ** added 
an indescribable grace to his conversation.-' 
Wholly destitute as he was of ** dignified reserve," 
he has been called " the politest of men," — equally 
courteous to people of every age and rank ; and, 
with all his intensity of spirit and heat of tempera- 
ment, there was on ordinary occasions " great 
meekness and retirement of manner, such as 
belong to the true gentleman, and commanded 



Ixvi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

respect." Blake has himself referred to this in 
a letter written shortly before he quitted Felpham, 
and has noticed it as working to his detriment 
there : " It is certain that a too passive manner, 
inconsistent with my active physiognomy, had 
done me great mischief." 

The character of Blake is suflBciently displayed 
in the events of his life, and a few additional 
observations will be enough. He was eminently 
single-minded, energetic, impulsive, vehement, 
without reticence and without indirectness. 
Every one might know what he thought, what he 
meant, what he wanted, and what he purposed. 
He was also incessantly and indefatigably labo- 
rious, patiently toiling on, never taking a holiday, 
turning only from one occupation to another as a 
relief. Often he would write away at a poem in 
brief intervals, almost without discontinuing his 
spell of engraving ; but occasionally, it would 
seem, he pursued his own individual work, in 
poetry or in designing, to the neglect of other and 
more paying work which may have been on hand, 
his ordinary task as an engraver of all sorts of 
miscellaneous subject-matter. In such cases, his 
wife, finding it vain to remonstrate from day to 
day, would at last, when all the house-money was 
gone, set before him an empty plate : he would take 
the hint, turn to at some drudgery, and resume 
the hard earning of his pittance. Earlier verbal 
reference to waning resources had perhaps only 
elicited the response, ** Oh damn the money ! It's 
always the money !" *' He was an early riser," says 
Mr. Gilchrist, "and worked steadily on through 
health and sickness. Once a young artist called, 
and complained of being very ill, — What was he 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixvil 

to do ? * Oh ! ' said Blake, ' I never stop for any- 
thing : I work on, whether ill or not/ He never 
took walks for mere walking's sake, or for pleasure, 
and could not sympathize with those who did." 
Another writer, Mr. J. T. Smith, states ; '' Often 
in the middle of the night, he would, after thinking 
deeply upon a particular subject, leap from his 
bed, and write for two hours or more." His habits 
were extremely temperate. Money he despised, 
and fame — the applause of contemporaries or of 
posterity — he was ready to do without: at the 
same time, he was by no means indifferent to the 
claims which he possessed on public regard, and he 
felt both irritated and indignant at the coldness 
and apathy with which his works were received, 
and was always ready to express these grievances 
as bluntly as he felt them acutely. It may be in- 
ferred that — true in this as in other matters to the 
impressionable artistic temperament — he was too 
liable to take umbrage and conceive dislikes. 
This tendency would doubtless have been fostered 
by his wife, of whom it has been said that *' some 
of the characteristics of an originally uneducated 
mind had clung to her, despite the late, culture 
received from her husband ; an exaggerated sus- 
piciousness, for instance, and even jealousy, of his 
friends." Thus Blake, open-minded and frank 
with friend and acquaintance, was also subject to 
fits of estrangement, which found a splenetic ut- 
terance orally and in writing. Nor yet was this 
waywardness or touchiness the only thing that 
made him not easy to be approached by most men, 
or to be kept up with even by the few who ap- 
proached ; by his very birthright, he belonged to 
the race of the solitary and uncompanioned. 



Ixviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

" Blake," it has been well said,^ "had a difficult 
and repulsive [repellent] phase in his character. 
It seems a pity that men so amiable and tender, 
so attractive to one's desire for fellowship, should 
prove on close contact to have a side of their 
nature so adamantine and full of self-assertion and 
resistance that they are driven at last to dwell in 
the small circle of friends who have the forbearance 
to excuse their peculiarities, and the wit to inter- 
pret their moods and minds. 

* Nor is it possible to thought 
A greater than itself to know.' 

In this sphinx-like and musical couplet, Blake 
himself hits the true basis of the reason why 
men whose genius is at once so sweet, so strong, 
and so unusual, are largely overlooked during 
life, and are difficult of exposition when the fluc- 
tuations and caprices of life no longer interfere 
to prevent a fair estimate of their powers and 
performances." Here and there, however, some 
stranger capable of appreciating Blake happened 
to encounter him : the German painter Gotzenber- 
ger should be especially named. He has left it on 
record : " I saw in England many men of talent, but 
only three men of genius, — Coleridge, Flaxman, 
and Blake ; and of these Blake was the greatest." 
Let us add (or rather repeat, for we have 
before had occasion to state the fact, and exem- 

* In an article, Life of William Blake, published in the 
London Quarterly Review for January 1869, by way of 
reviewing Mr. Gilchrist's book. This article, the best of all 
those I have seen having the same object, was written by 
Mr. James Smetham, — who, being himself a painter and 
designer, has more than common qualifications for appre- 
ciating Blake, and bringing the reader en rapport with him. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixix 

plify it by an instance) that, notwithstanding his 
jealous suspicions and summary aggressiveness, 
Blake was neither rancorous nor unforgiving. 
" He seemed incapable of envy " (says Mr. Crabb 
Eobinson), "as he was of discontent." His 
heart was truly a soft one ; and his liberality, 
considering his extremely restricted means, was 
more than laudable. On one occasion he lent 
£40 (almost all the money that he then possessed, 
and presumably far more than he could mostly 
command for any purpose whatever) to an 
acquaintance who was in diJEculty. At another 
time his attention was caught by a young man, 
evidently in delicate health, who frequently passed 
his house. He invited the youth indoors ; found 
him to be a student of art; and, seconded by 
Mrs. Blake, ministered to his wants for some 
while together with unwearying kindness. 

His unworldliness, extreme as it was, did not 
degenerate into ineptitude: he apprehended the 
requirements of practical life, was prepared to 
meet them in a resolute and diligent spirit from 
day to day, and could on occasion display a full 
share of sagacity. He was of lofty and indepen- 
dent spirit, not caring to refute any odd stories 
that were current regarding his conduct or 
demeanour, neither parading nor concealing his 
poverty, and seldom accepting any sort of aid 
for which he could not and did not supply a full 
equivalent. His conversation was nervous and 
brilliant, his knowledge various and extensive. 
This is Mr. Palmer's testimony, and we may pro- 
bably accept it in the sense in which it is meant ; 
though in the way of accurate scholarship, of 
precise acquisition of the details of knowledge. 



Ixx PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

Blake, like many other men of great intellect, 
had little to vaunt. The same observant and 
sympathetic friend tells us that, notwithstand- 
ing the wild, yet never meaningless, attacks 
which Blake has written on certain artists (such 
as Titian, Correggio, Eubens, Eeynolds), ''in 
conversation he was anything but sectarian or 
exclusive, finding sources of delight throughout 
the whole range of art, while, as a critic, he 
was judicious and discriminating." In con- 
versing, it should be understood that some 
of his extremest and fiercest utterances were 
due to a spirit of opposition rather than any- 
thing else: people provoked him by obtuseness 
or antagonism, and he would make them stare 
by the opinions he expressed or the affirmations 
he made. His voice was low and musical. He 
was gentle and afiectionate, loving to be with 
little children, and to talk about them. Eepub- 
lican and liberty-loving as he was, he had little 
faith in common demagogues, and entertained a 
certain curious liking for ecclesiastical govern- 
m.ents, thinking less ill of priestcraft than of 
" soldiercraft and lawyercraft." That he was on 
the whole and in the best sense happy is, consi- 
dering all his trials and crosses, one of the very 
highest evidences in his praise. ''If asked," 
writes Mr. Palmer, " whether I ever knew among 
the intellectual a happy man, Blake would be the 
only one who would immediately occur to me." 
Visionary and ideal aspiration of the intensest 
kind ; the imaginative life wholly predominating 
over the corporeal and mundane life, and almost 
swallowing it up; and a child-like simplicity of 
personal character, free from self-interest, and 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxi 

ignorant or careless of any policy of self-control, 
though habitually guided and regulated by noble 
€motions and a resolute loyalty to duty^ — these 
are the main lines which we trace throughout the 
entire career of Blake, in his life and death, in 
his writings and his art. This it is which makes 
him so peculiarly loveable and admirable as a 
man, and invests his works, especially his poems, 
with so delightful a charm. We feel that he is 
truly of "the kingdom of heaven"; above the 
firmament, his soul holds converse with arch- 
angels ; on the earth, he is as the little child 
whom Jesus " set in the midst of them." 

It must be allowed that in many instances 
Blake spoke of himself with measureless and 
rather provoking self-applause. This is in truth 
one conspicuous outcome of that very simplicity 
of character of which I have just spoken : egotism 
it is, but not worldly self-seeking. Something 
also is probably due to the fact that he considered 
himself to be continually working under direct 
inspiration or supernatural command; and much 
assuredly, to his canons of art, according to which 
the conception or invention of a work was the 
one thing of supreme importance, and the power 
of execution indivisibly annexed to the power of 
invention. If only the idea was strikingly and 
movingly expressed, that was the execution of 
the work, adequately carried out, and finally 
right. Here are a few examples of the style in 
which Blake was capable of writing about him- 
self. " It has been said to the artist — ' Take 
the Apollo for the model of your Beautiful Man,^ 

^ Our extract is from Blake's Descriptive Catalogue, and 
relates especially to the painting entitled — The Ancient 



Ixxii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

and the Hercules for your Strong Man, and 
the Dancing Faun for your Ugly Man. JSTow 
he comes to his trial. He knows that what 
he does is not inferior to the grandest antiques. 
Superior it cannot be, for human power cannot 
go beyond either what he does or what they have 
done. It is the gift of God, it is inspiration and 
vision." *^ I have now given two years to the 
intense study of those parts of the art which 
relate to light-and- shade and colour; and am 
convinced that either my understanding is inca- 
pable of comprehending the beauty of colouring, 
or the pictures which I painted for you^ are 
equal in every part of the art, and superior in 
one, to anything that has been done since the 
age of Eaphael .... I also know and under- 
stand, and can assuredly affirm, that the works 
I have done for you are equal to the Caracci 
or Eaphael (and I am now some years older 
than Eaphael was when he died). I say they 
are equal to Caracci ^ or Eaphael; or else lam 
blind, stupid, ignorant, and incapable, in two 

Britons. In the last Battle of King Arthur only three 
Britons escaped. These were the Strongest Man, the Beauti- 
fullest Man, and the Ugliest Man. These three marched 
through ike field unsubdued as Gods, and the sun of Britain 
setf but shall arise again with tenfold splendour when Arthur 
shall awake from sleep, and resume his dominion over earth 
and ocean. 

* Mr. Butts. This extract comes from a private letter 
addressed to that gentleman in 1802. 

^ Of course many of us at the present day will think that 
Blake's works are more than equal (in various regards^ 
including some of the highest) to those of the Caracci ; 
whom, indeed, Blake himself did not greatly reverence, 
though he here couples their name with Raphael's. This 
was probably an argumentum ad hominem. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxiii 

years' study, to understand those things which 
a boarding-school miss can comprehend in a fort- 
night. Be assured, my dear friend, that there 
is not one touch in those drawings and pictures 
but what came from my hand and my heart in 
unison; that I am proud of being their author, 
and grateful to you my employer .... I do not 
pretend to be perfect : yet, if my works have 
faults, Oaracci's, Correggio's, and Eaphael's have 
faults also." " In the art of painting these im- 
postors sedulously propagate an opinion that 
great inventors cannot execute .... I do not 
believe that this absurd opinion ever was set on 
foot till, in my outset into life, it was artfully 
published, both in whispers and in print, by 
certain persons whose robberies from me made 
it necessary to them that I should be hid in 
a corner . . . . I, in my own defence, challenge a 
competition with the finest engravings, and defy 
the most critical judge to make the comparison 
honestly ; asserting in my own defence that this 
print^ is the finest that has been done, or is likely 
to be done, in England, where drawing, the 
foundation, is condemned, and absurd nonsense 
about dots and lozenges and clean strokes made 
to occupy the attention, to the neglect of all real 
art." "Mr. Blake's powers of invention very 
early engaged the attention of many persons of 
eminence and fortune ; by whose means he has 
been regularly enabled to bring before the public 
works (he is not afraid to say) of equal magnitude 
and consequence with the productions of any age 
or country." 

* Blake's print of the Canterbury Pilgrims, 

f 



Ixxiv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

Having thus spoken of Blake's person and 
his character, we must next say a little of the 
distinctive qualities of his mind. All these were 
in fact entirely homogeneous, and he would 
himself have been among the first to scout any 
wiredrawn distinctions between the several consti- 
tuents which make up the man — scion and heir of 
immortality, passing quickly through this terrene 
life as through a garment. The essence of Blake's 
faculty, the power by which he achieved his work, 
was intuition : this holds good of his artistic pro- 
ductions, and still more so of his poems. Intui- 
tion reigns supreme in them ; and even the 
reader has to apprehend them intuitively, or 
else to leave them aside altogether. They do 
not invite, nor bear, analysis : they were con- 
ceived each as a whole. Or rather one might 
say that each of them embodies a perception, 
a vivid perception, of Blake's mind, which he 
realized to himself in rapid and luminous words. 
The perception and the words are highly congru- 
ous one with another : but it does not always 
happen that the words indicate to the reader 
exactly the same thing which they represented 
to Blake, or with the same force and aptitude : 
they are to be seized or missed — not expounded 
and dissected. In many instances, no doubt, — 
so far as his lyrical poems are concerned — Blake 
both thought and wrote with the extreme of 
simplicity. Like an infant, he acquiesces in 
the appearances of things, and expresses them 
with a directness of sympathy which cannot 
be surpassed. Yet here too, and far more so 
in other instances of a difierent order of subject- 
matter, his intuition catches at the meaning of the 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxv 

things through their appearances ; and the potency 
of his words is rather in flashing out the meaning 
than in any process of description. 

Along with this faculty of intuition, Blake had 
a boundless capacity of faith : he could believe in 
anything, and required no confirmatory evidence, 
whether of his own senses, or of argumentative 
reasoning, or of other people's concurrence. Doubt 
was his loathing : — 

" If the sun and moon should doubt, 
They'd immediately go out." 

Of a truth, doubt was not in him : he either 
believed or repudiated, accepted or rejected. As 
Mr. Swinburne has said, with his usual exquisite 
tact of diction corresponding to a clear intel- 
lectual perception : ** His outcries on various 
matters of art or morals were in effect the mere 
expression, not of reasonable dissent, but of 
violent belief." His mind saw demonstrations, 
and leaped to conclusions ; and the unity of his 
nature was such that what was apparent to him on 
one side, or from one point of view, was received 
as irrefutable from all points of view. This 
but amounts to another instance of his sense 
of spiritual insight : to him the information 
afforded by his mind, his imagination or per- 
ception, was true and final information, not 
subject to the illusions and ambiguities of the 
five senses and of physical things : it was " a 
portion of the eternal " admitting of no refutation. 
A great many things which other people believed 
or asserted, whether on religious or other subjects, 
were to Blake nugatory or fallacious : but there 
was nothing of the sceptic in him. His faith 



Ixxvi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

found boundless space for exercise, and pierced 
the utmost depths of it unflinchingly. 

As to his religious belief, it should be understood 
that Blake was a christian in a certain way, and 
a truly fervent christian : but it was a way of his 
own, exceedingly diflerent from that of any of the 
churches. For the last forty years of his life he 
never entered a place of worship. That he kept 
up a practice of private prayer — at any rate, on 
particular emergencies — appears from the follow- 
ing anecdote. Mr. Richmond (the now well-known 
portrait-painter, then one of the young men who 
revered Blake in his advanced age), ** finding his 
invention flag during a whole fortnight, went to 
Blake, as was his wont, for some advice or comfort. 
He found him sitting at tea with his wife. He 
related his distress,, how he felt deserted by the 
power of invention. To his astonishment, Blake 
turned to his wife suddenly, and said : * It is just 
so with us (is it not ? ) for weeks together, when 
the visions forsake us. "What do we do then, 
Kate ? ' ' We kneel down and pray, Mr. Blake.' '' 
He was (as Mr. Swinburne has well pointed out) 
a heretic, not an infidel. He would zealously and 
vigorously confute the freethinkers, such as Paine 
and Godwin, whom he met at the table of the 
bookseller Mr. Johnson ; and would constantly, 
in later years, uphold revelation and Christianity, 
and argue in a very incensed tone against mate- 
rialism. But, if his companion were a christian 
of any ordinary type, he would regard Blake 
himself as the freethinker and unbeliever, cut off 
by impassable lines of demarcation from the com- 
munion of the faithful. Clearly, Blake's beliefs 
were not vague to himself, but most express and 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. "Ixxvii 

positive : yet they appear to have been to a certain 
extent shifting, or at least subject to great variety 
of relative weight and of application. Moreover 
(I again recur to Mr. Swinburne) " it must be 
remembered that Blake uses the current terms of 
religion, now as types of his own peculiar faith, 
now in the sense of ordinary preachers ; impugning 
therefore at one time what at another he will seem 
to vindicate.'' Thus the task of setting forth 
Blake's beliefs becomes arduous, and sometimes 
hardly to be managed. He believed — with a 
great profundity and ardour of faith — in God; 
but he believed also that men are gods, or that 
collective man is God. He believed in Christ ; 
but exactly what he believed him to be is a 
separate question. Jesus Christ (he said, con- 
versing with Mr. Eobinson) " is the only God ; 
and so am I, and so are you." This, from a cer- 
tain point of view, is fairly intelligible; other 
remarks which Blake made on the same occasion, 
if less important, are also more obscure. " He 
had just before " (as Mr. Eobinson relates) " been 
speaking of the ' errors ' of Jesus Christ ; Jesus 
Christ should not have allowed himself to be 
crucified, and should not have attacked the 
government. On my enquiring how this view 
could be reconciled with the sanctity and divine 
qualities of Jesus, Blake said * He was not then 
become the Father.' " "All nations," he averred, 
^* had originally one language and one religion ; 
this was the religion of Jesus, the everlasting- 
gospel." But what did this gospel amount to ? 
*' I know of no other Christianity and no other 
gospel than the liberty both of body and mind to 
exercise the divine arts of imagination." These 



Ixxviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

two passages come respectively from the Descrip- 
tive Catalogue and the Jerusalem : widely sundered 
though they are, they have a real interdependence. 
Again, he would say " Christianity is Art," and 
*' Art is Christianity." 

These oracles about "imagination" and "art," 
as identified with " Christianity," seem to be 
rather wild; yet there is a certain pregnancy 
about Blake's words in general which renders it 
unbefitting that we should pass over the present 
dicta without making some small attempt to 
understand them. ^Nevertheless, it is certain 
that, as Blake did not reach his conclusions by 
any cautious steps of induction or deduction, so 
we, in using those methods, shall not succeed in 
precisely solving his problems. But to put the 
point argumentatively : the prominent idea in 
Blake's mind may, for instance, have been that 
Christ rejected "the world," and that his doctrine 
made light of " the natural man." By a rapid 
transition from the acceptation which these and 
other like phrases have received in theology, and 
in the order of moral ideas, to the construction 
which might be put upon them in a cosmical 
sense, Blake may have chosen to think that 
Christ rejected the visible physical world, and 
made light of the physical constitution of man — 
the very things that Blake himself was so per- 
petually resisting, whenever their claims came 
into collision with those of supersensual existence 
and imaginative verity. And in this sense it 
may have been true to his own intellect — and 
even not entirely untrue or fantastic to other 
intellects as well — that Christianity champions 
"the divine arts of imagination," which by Blake 
were summed up in the single emphatic word 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxix 

" Art." The reader, if disposed to do so, must 
follow out for himself these and other lines of 
thought which converge, or may be supposed to 
converge, towards our poet's laconic and startling 
axiom. 

In immortality Blake seems to have believed 
implicitly, and (in some main essentials) without 
much deviation from other people's credence. 
When he heard of Flaxman's death (7 December 
1826), he observed, "I cannot think of death 
as more than the going out of one room into 
another." In one of his writings he says : " The 
world of imagination is the world of eternity. It 
is the divine bosom into which we shall all go 
after the death of the vegetated body. This world 
of imagination is infinite and eternal ; whereas 
the world of generation, or vegetation, is finite 
and temporal. There exist in that eternal world 
the permanent realities of everything which we 
see reflected in this vegetable glass of nature." 
It may well be doubted, however, whether Blake 
adhered to the established belief in future rewards 
and punishments according to the tenour of life 
which men have led on this earth; and he steadily 
resisted the acceptance of the common " moral 
virtues " as the standard of human excellence. 
What he attended to was difierence of character, 
excellence or meanness of faculty ; not what is 
regarded as the right or the wrong in conduct. 
Endless capacity for forgiving, and measureless 
exercise of that capacity, this was his acme — almost 
his sum-total — of teachable moral or religious 
obligation, continually repeated, whether in the 
form of direct precept or otherwise. 

" Mutual forgiveness of each vice, 
Such are the Gates of Paradise.'' 



IXXX PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

He once maintained that the Eoman - Catholic 
Church is the only one which teaches the for- 
giveness of sins : this, and not this alone, may 
have prompted the liking which he certainly 
entertained for that communion. As to the 
"moral virtues," he was not afraid of declaring 
that they " do not exist : they are allegories 
and dissimulations/' Here is another of his 
curious utterances bearing on that general 
subject: it occurs in a conversation held with 
Mr. Eobinson in 1825. *' There is no use in 
education : I hold it to be wrong. It is the great 
sin : it is eating of the tree of the knowledge of 
good and evil. This was the fault of Plato : he 
knew of nothing but the virtues and vices, and 
good and evil. There is nothing in all that. 
Everything is good in God's eyes." At another 
interview a short while afterwards, Blake, as Mr. 
Eobinson notes, " would allow of no other educa- 
tion than what lies in the cultivation of the fine 
arts and the imagination." 

Blake had in all probability read in his youth 
some of the mystical or cabalistic writers — 
Paracelsus, Jacob Bohme, Cornelius Agrippa; and 
there is a good deal in his speculations, in sub- 
stance and tone, and sometimes in detail, which 
can be traced back to authors of this class. JSTot 
that he borrowed intentionally, or was at all in 
the way of following out anybody's system as 
such : but some of these ideas commended them- 
selves to his mind, and, transfused through that, 
found expression along with others for which he 
was probably indebted to no precursor. Sweden- 
borg also he had read, and he respected him, but 
with measure. '' Any man of mechanical talents " 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxxi 

(he writes in the Marriage of Heaven and Hell) 
*'inaj, from the writings of Paracelsus or Jacob 
Bohme, produce ten-thousand volumes of equal 
value with Swedenborg's ; and, from those of 
Dante or Shakspeare, an infinite number." ^ 
Several of his leading doctrines closely resemble 
those which were promulgated by Marcion, the 
celebrated heretic of the second century : Blake 
might without great impropriety be numbered 
among those long-extinct sectaries the Marcionites. 
Marcion held that there was an irreconcileable 
opposition between the Creator of the world and 
the Christian God, and their respective systems, 
the Law and the Gospel. He believed in two, or 
perhaps three, original principles. One he named 
the Good ; another, the visible God, the Creator ; 
the third was the Devil, or perhaps Matter, the 
source of evil. Theodoret says that even four 
such principles were recognized ; the one which 
we have placed third being in this arrangement 
divided into (3) Matter, and (4) the Devil, the 
ruler of Matter. Marcion could not discern in 
Nature, nor yet in the Old Testament, that love 
which is manifested in the Gospel. He regarded 
the Creator, the God of the Old Testament, as 
*' malorum factorem,^'' or author of sujQTering. Jesus 

^ It would be interesting (at any rate to the few readers 
of Blake's mystical writings) if some thoroughly competent 
writer, supplementing the masterly performance of Mr. 
Swinburne, would trace out the relation between the specu- 
lations of Blake and those of other mystics. I believe that 
M. Jules Andrieu, now among us in London, one of the 
most deserving of honour among the survivors of the much- 
maligned Parisian Commune, possesses, in almost unequalled 
degree, the knowledge requisite for such an undertaking — 
not manageable at all save by a few. 



Ixxxii PREFATOKY MEMOIR* 

was not the Messiah promised by this God to 
the Jews, but was the son of the unseen and un- 
named God, and had appeared on earth as a man, 
possibly only phantasmal, to deliver souls, and 
overthrow the dominion of the Creator. He de- 
livered from hades, not the saints (such as Abel 
and David), but the opponents of the Creator 
(such as Cain, Esau, Dathan, Abiram, Korah, 
&c.). Marcion condemned marriage, as being 
subsidiary to the propagation of new slaves of 
the Creator ; he denied the resurrection of the 
body ; fasted on the sabbath, as an act of protest 
against the repose of the Creator on that day ; 
and rejected the whole of the Old Testament, and 
much of the New, especially those passages where 
Christ speaks of the Creator as his father. The 
student of Blake^s writings will find in them some 
things strictly conformable to these doctrines 
of Marcion, and other points nearly enough re- 
lated to the same order of ideas. 

To illustrate the extreme divergence of Blake's 
way of speaking of certain points in christian 
theology from what is customary with the ortho- 
dox, I give the following brief extract from The 
Marriage of Heaven and HelL It may be read as 
supplementary to the axiom "Art is Christianity." 
" Then Ezekiel said : ' The philosophy of the East 
taught the first principles of human perception. 
Some nations hold one principle for the origin, 
and some another. We of Israel taught that the 
Poetic Genius (as you now call it) was the First 
Principle, and all the others merely derivative ; 
which was the cause of our despising the priests 
and philosophers of other countries, and prophe- 
sying that all gods would at last be proved to 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxxiii 

originate in ours, and to be the tributaries of the 
Poetic Genius. It was this that our great poet 
King David desired so fervently, and invoked so 
pathetically, saying — By this he conquers enemies, 
and governs kingdoms. And we so loved our God 
that we cursed in his name all the deities of sur- 
rounding nations, and asserted that they had 
rebelled. From these opinions, the vulgar came 
to think that all nations would at last be subject 
to the Jews. This,' said he, 'like all firm per- 
suasions, is come to pass ; for all nations believe 
the Jews' code, and worship the Jews' God, and 
what greater subjection can be ? ' I heard this " 
(Blake subjoins) " with some wonder, and must 
confess my own conviction." 

One of the matters most observable, and at 
times most puzzling, in Blake, is the contempt 
with which he treats the body and all its acts, as 
contrasted with the spirit and its functions, — 
and, on the other hand, the unflagging zeal with 
which he upholds the acting-out of natural human 
desires, and repels and denounces all the coercive 
devices of the formalist, and even the regulative 
distinctions between right and wrong propounded 
by the moralist. Yet there is a clue to these 
seeming contradictions. Blake believed in man 
as a divine emanation, an eternally subsisting 
revelation of deity. Man was essentially a spirit; 
but, in this mundane transit, invested with a 
body, and communicating with the infinite 
through the medium of the five senses. Man, 
the free divine spirit, was at liberty to do, and 
right in doing, whatsoever his spiritual essence 
dictated — he was a law to himself, and none 
other law existed; and, in the mundane con- 



Ixxxiv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

dition, the body, as organ and vehicle of the 
spirit, was rightly employed in putting into 
effect the spiritual desires and aspirations, which, 
in this physical world, became necessarily con- 
versant in many respects with physical things. 
Where Blake contemned the body was in its 
severance from or substitution for the spirit. 
To trust the five senses, to believe in their in- 
timations as final, or as corrective of the in- 
tuitions of the spirit, this was his abhorrence. 
The spirit had other and superior knowledge 
than any which the ^ye senses could minister ; 
but the service of the senses, as service and not 
guidance to the spirit, as executors and not dic- 
tators of the free-will, was wholly legitimate and 
commendable in this transitionary and hebetated 
state of life, since no better might be. " Act out 
all your spiritual desires, whether the spirit or 
the body be the appointed medium of action." 
" Ee not careful of the things of the body, rather 
hold them in small account, and let not the body 
overrule the spirit." These are two separate pre- 
cepts (given here not in Blake's own language, 
but by way of condensing many scattered items 
of his teaching): separate, but not in the least 
degree incompatible when one considers them 
singly and relatively. Blake preached forth both, 
and both with great emphasis, liable sometimes 
to mislead his auditor. 

Despising sense whenever its evidence or its 
claims are made to conflict with those of spirit, 
Blake constantly fell foul of JSTewton and Locke, 
authors of **a philosophy of the five senses"; men 
who could not be contented with perception and 
conviction, but must investigate, forsooth, and 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxxv 

ponderate, and verify, and find out. Hence too, 
in part, his still greater and more rabid animosity 
against Lord Bacon. " The great Bacon, as he is 
called (I call him the little Bacon), says that 
everything must be done by experiment." That 
was one great offence; another was the tone of 
diplomacy and statecraft (things peculiarly odious 
to Blake) apparent in the politician's Essays and 
other writings. " Bacon, Locke, and Newton," 
said Blake to Mr. Eobinson, ** are the three great 
teachers of atheism, or Satan's doctrine." Nor 
did the authors of classical antiquity, taken in a 
body, fare better at the hands of our mystic; 
their delight in war, and no doubt their wor- 
ship of the powers of Nature, being damnatory 
charges against them. "The stolen and per- 
verted writings " (thus runs a passage from the 
preface to the poem Milton) " of Homer and Ovid, 
of Plato and Cicero, which all men ought to con- 
temn, are set up by artifice against the sublime 
of the Bible. But, when the new age is at leisure 
to pronounce, all will be set right, and those 
grand works of the more ancient and more con- 
sciously and professedly inspired men will hold 
their proper rank, and the Daughters of Memory 
[the Muses] shall become the Daughters of Inspi- 
ration. Shakspeare and Milton were both curbed 
by the general malady and infection from the 
silly Greek and Latin slaves of the sword. . . . We 
do not want either Greek or Eoman models, if we 
are but just and true to our own imaginations — 
those worlds of eternity in which we shall live for 
ever, in Jesus our Lord." 

Blake may be termed a pantheist, as well as 
mystic. In the essence and elements of the 



Ixxxvi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

human soul, its aboriginal powers and passions, 
he recognized no evil : at least, this appears to 
have been his enduring doctrine when he defined 
and- formulated it, for no doubt he, like other 
audacious and impulsive thinkers, said many 
things from time to time which could not be made 
to square exactly with the ideas which he laid 
down with decisive solemnity ex cathedra, " With- 
out contraries is no progression. Attraction and 
repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are 
necessary to human existence. From these con- 
traries spring what the religious call good and 
evil. Good is the passive that obeys reason : evil 
is the active springing from energy. Good is 
Heaven ; evil is Hell." This extract comes from 
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, which title we 
thus perceive to imply intrinsically " the union 
of reason with energy;" and we need hardly 
explain that Blake was not the sort of man to 
consider that reason was the only thing grand 
and noble, to the exclusion of energy. When he 
calls the one " good," and the other " evil," we are 
to understand both these terms in a plastic and 
fluent sense, by no means the same as would 
be given to them in a tract of the Society for 
Promoting Christian Knowledge. The strenuous 
exertion of human faculty, of whatever kind, was 
not hateful to Blake, although he may have 
identified it, in a certain deep and enlarged sense, 
with "evil." What he did intensely and thoroughly 
hate, with an active detestation difiicult of com- 
prehension to most people, was the formality of 
moral and religious precisians ; the dividing and 
ticketing of the human-divine being, constituted 
of soul and body ; the labelling of one portion of 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxxvu 

him, or one direction of his spiritual energies, as 
right, and another as wrong; the elaboration of 
rules, and exact, rigid, self-applausive adherence 
to them ; the whole stock-in-trade of the professed 
moralist, and ajp'paratus criticus of the pharisee. 
The character in which he abhors and renounces 
Satan is that of *' the Accuser of Sins." The 
monarch of hell might be the antagonist of many- 
things accounted sacred, and might exercise wild 
volcanic forces in many inconvenient directions, 
and yet incur small blame from Blake : but it is a 
different matter when the same personage accuses 
others of sins. He has no business to consider 
that such and such things are sins, or to run up 
bills of indictment against people who are ful- 
filling their own destinies, or putting their own 
free-will into act, or suiting their own tastes. 
There lies the fatal flaw in Satan. ^' Every religion 
that preaches vengeance for sin is the religion of 
the enemy and avenger, and not of the forgiver 
of sin; and their God is Satan named by the 
divine name." 

We have now gone through the incidents in 
the life of Blake, and have taken some general 
view of his person, his character, and, however 
imperfect, of his mind and line of thought. We 
have found him to be spiritual-minded, mystic 
and visionary, lofty, energetic, hard-working, 
superior to circumstance. We shall next recur to a 
question "which we asked almost at the threshold 
of our investigation — Was he mad ? 

The first thing to be observed upon this query 
is that it cannot be answered, to the enquirer's 
personal satisfaction, unless he has first fami- 
liarized himself with Blake's actual work in fine 



Ixxxviii PHEFATORY MEMOIR. 

art and in letters, more especially with the so- 
called Prophetic Books. If he has done this, he 
is certain to have formed some opinion on the 
question, or at any rate to tend towards one 
opinion or the other ; and he will not be easily 
moved therefrom by the conclusion of other 
enquirers. For my own part — with the deepest 
reverence for Blake, the keenest enjoyment of a 
great deal of his work, and an inclination to 
accept the rest of it as in some way or other 
justifiable to the author's intellect, and responsive 
to, and representative of, his large conceptions 
and deep meanings — I must nevertheless avow 
that I think there was something in his mind not 
exactly sane.^ I apprehend that there are in the 
Prophetic Books many passages which show the 
author to have been possessed by ideas which he 
could not regulate or control — indeed, he himself 
proclaimed as much when he asserted that he 
wrote under immediate dictation, and without the 
exercise of any option of his own ; and, what is 
far more symptomatic in the same direction, I 
think he every now and then "boiled over" (if 
the expression may be allowed) into words which 
have no definable relevancy to anything that 
deserves to be called a thought or idea. I cannot 
pretend to furnish — what has bafiled many 
persons incomparably more qualified than myself 
for such a task — a fair definition of the term 
*' Madness;" but, when I find a man pouring 

' Mr. Smetham expresses himself very much to the same 
effect. " We cannot but, on the whole, lean to the opinion 
that somewhere in the wonderful compound of flesh and 
spirit — somewhere in those recesses where the one runs into 
the other — he was * slightly touched.'" 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxxix 

forth conceptions and images for which he pro- 
fesses himself not responsible, and which are in 
themselves in the highest degree remote, nebul- 
ous, and intangible, and putting some of these 
moreover into words wherein congruent sequence, 
and significance of expression or of analogy, are 
not to be traced, then I cannot resist a strong 
presumption that that man was in some true 
sense of the word mad. 

To call Blake simply a madman would be ridi- 
culous and despicable ; even to call him (as some 
have done) an inspired madman would be most 
incomplete and misleading. But it may, I think, 
be allowable to say that he was a sublime genius, 
often perfectly sane, often visionary and exalte 
without precisely losing his hold upon sanity, 
and sometimes exhibiting an insane taint. To 
me this appears to be the true statement of the 
matter; nor do I think it derogates from a re- 
spectful and grateful acceptance of Blake's work. 
We have his product before us, and are con- 
strained to form some estimate of it. There are 
portions of it which not one of us can possibly 
hoodwink himself into receiving as the right sort 
of thing — we must condemn them as faulty and 
even heinous, according to any true standard of 
art. If we eliminate them as coming from the 
mad chink of Blake's mind, we leave. undamnified 
the far larger proportion of his work to which 
the same censure does not apply. But if, on the 
other hand, through timorous respect and con- 
sideration for his genius, we flinch from this con- 
clusion, we are then compelled to say that Blake, in 
full possession of his rationality, could write much 
that was fatuous and nonsensical — "balderdash," 

g 



XC PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

to use a plain word — as well as much that was 
noble and admirable ; and this leaves an uneasy 
sense of insecurity in his reader, and casts a slur 
over the whole body of the author's work. For 
he must be a " queer fellow" (to use one of Blake's 
own phrases) who, being sane, can write the sort 
of thing which, had it proceeded from a madman, 
we should recognize as altogether in character. 
At the present day, the word "enthusiast" bears 
only a secondary and diflPused meaning, and is 
mostly a term of commendation ; but in our older 
writers it designates a person of morbid spiritual 
and religious self-consciousness, a fanatic partly 
insane. In both senses the word applies rightly 
to Blake. In his accustomed moods he is an 
enthusiast in the modern sense ; a glorious en- 
thusiast at whose feet we can sit in veneration, 
and hear divine strains from his lips, and see his 
hand prolific in magical creations. But there are 
moments not unfrequent when he becomes an 
enthusiast in the older sense, and then we are 
permitted to close our ears and eyes ; under 
penalty, if we open them, of being forced to pro- 
nounce the words a thick-coming and contorted 
jargon, and the pencilled forms an indiscriminate 
shadow-dance. 

The imputation of madness seems to have beset 
Blake from kis earliest years : it is not simply a 
deduction arrived at by those who have conned 
his completed work with amazement. " One 
day," writes Mr. Gilchrist with reference to the 
artist's childhood, " a traveller was telling bright 
wonders of some foreign city. ' Do you call that 
splendid ? ' broke in young Blake. * I should call 
a city splendid in which the houses were of gold, 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XCl 

the pavement of silver, the gates ornamented 
with precious stones.' At which outburst hearers 
were already disposed to shake the head, and pro- 
nounce the speaker crazed." Wordsworth, after 
reading the Songs of Innocence and Experience, 
spoke of them as the productions of" great but un- 
doubtedly insane genius." Dr. Malkin, the Head 
Master of Bury St. Edmund's Grammar School, 
writing * in vindication of the claims of Blake as a 
man of uncommon genius, remarks : " The sceptic 
and the rational believer, uniting their forces 
against the visionary, pursue and scare a warm 
and brilliant imagination with the hue-and-cry 
of ' madness ' ... By them, in short, has he been 
stigmatized as an engraver who might do tolerably 
well if he was not mad." Blake himself (in his 
manuscript Puhlic Address, intended to accompany 
the engraving of the Oanterhury Pilgrims) writes : 
" Ye English engravers must come down from 
your high flights. ... It is very true what you 
have said for these thirty-two years ; I am mad, or 
else you are so. Both of us cannot be in our right 
senses. Posterity will judge by our works." 
Again (in the manuscript Vision of the Last Judg- 
ment) : " The painter hopes that his friends, 
Anytus, Melitus, and Lycon, will perceive that 
they are not now in ancient Greece ; and, though 
they can use the poison of calumny, the English 
public will be convinced that such a picture as this 
could never be painted by a madman or by one in 

* In that very curious book entitled A Father^s Memoirs 
of his Child, hy Benjamin Heath Malkin, 1806, This is an 
account of an astonishingly precocious little Malkin, who 
died in his seventh year : the frontispiece to the volume is 
designed partly by Blake. 



XCli PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

a state of outrageous manners ; as these bad men 
both print and publish by all the means in their 
power." Flaxman is perhaps glanced at under 
the name of Anytus, or Melitus, or Lycon. The 
reader will see, in two of the rhymed epigrams in 
our volume each of them addressed to Flaxman, 
the phrases " You call me mad," and " Thou call'st 
me madman." In the Examiner newspaper for 
17 September 1809 appeared an abusive article 
upon Blake's Exhibition, speaking of him as "an 
unfortunate lunatic whose personal inoffensive- 
ness secures him from confinement" : this sounds 
like the mere low-minded insolence of a literary 
fish-fag, yet it probably means what it pur- 
ports. As I have already observed, Mr. Gilchrist 
(and here Mr. Swinburne is at one with him) 
repudiates the idea that Blake was, in any ad- 
missible sense of the word, " mad." He quotes 
the opinions to the contrary expressed by Mr. 
Linnell, Mr. Palmer, Mr. Butts, Mr. Cornelius 
Yarley, and others who were acquainted with 
Blake ; and goes so far as to say that the term 
" mad " is " one which none who knew the vision- 
ary man personally, at any period of his life, 
thought of applying to him." But here Mr. Gil- 
christ wrote with less than his usual accuracy. 
The opinion entertained at times by Flaxman — or 
at any rate supposed by Blake to be entertained 
by the distinguished sculptor and old friend — has 
just been quoted : Mr. Crabb Eobinson also con- 
sidered Blake insane — as indeed Mr. Gilchrist 
himself acknowledges elsewhere. 

It has likewise been said that Blake, however 
strange in some of his writings or designs, always 
behaved rationally in the affairs of practical life. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XCUl 

This, making some slight allowance, appears to be 
true. There are people who might object that 
he was unduly and unaccountably indifferent to 
money-making and worldly position ; but I for 
one would not admit that as derogating in any 
way from his sanity of mind — rather as testifying 
to the greatness, if also in this epoch the un- 
commonness, of his character. If it is true that 
he seriously proposed to his wife to introduce into 
the household a second sharer of his bed and 
board, this must be counted a not strictly rational 
proceeding, even if we leave aside the question of 
morals ; but we are always to remember that he 
did not carry any such proposal into effect, nor 
can we be certain that he ever so much as sug- 
gested it. 

Again, it might be averred that he somewhat 
exceeded the bounds of healthy reason, as well as 
of good feeling, in the imputations which he would 
now and again cast on his friends and acquaint- 
ances. There is in especial one epigram of his 
concerning Hayley never yet put into print : it 
exists in the MS. book belonging to Mr. Dante G. 
Kossetti of which mention will again be made in 
our volume, and which Mr. Gilchrist drew upon. 
Blake evidently had no idea of ever printing it, or 
showing it about : he wrote the lines merely as a 
vent to feelings of pettishness and exasperation. 

*^ On Hayley^s Friendship, 
When Hayley ' finds out what you cannot do, 



' In the original MS. this name, and also the name in the 
heading of the epigram, stands written simply **H — y." 
There is no manner of doubt that Hayley is intended. 



XCIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

That is the very thing he'll set j^ou to.* 
If you break not your neck, 'tis not his fault : 
But pecks of poison are not pecks of salt. 
And, when he could not act upon my wife. 
Hired a villain to bereave my life." 

The last couplet conveys two distinct and most 
grave charges against poor Hayley; charges to 
which one can hardly suppose Blake himself to 
have lent any real credence. He seems rather 
to have been writing in a spirit of wilful and wan- 
ton perversity : the more monstrous and obviously 
untenable the accusation, the more pat it comes 
under a pen guided by mere testiness. It is 
exactly the spirit of a " naughty little boy." The 
phrase " when he could not act upon my wife '* 
has a somewhat indeterminate, though manifestly 
virulent, meaning : the other statement, that Hay- 
ley ** hired a villain to bereave my life," can only 
(it would seem) relate to the affair of the soldier 
Scholfield, who accused Blake of using seditious 
words, and thereby subjected him to trial on a 
criminal (not in reality a capital) charge. ISTow 
the fact is that Hayley, so far from hiring this 
villain to bereave Blake's life, had (as we have 
already seen) come forward immediately as his bail, 
and afterwards as a witness on his behalf. Blake, 
if he believed that Hayley had plotted against his 
life, can hardly have been quite sane ; and, if he 
disbelieved it and yet wrote it, our conclusion as 
to his state of mind at that particular moment 
need only differ in detail. I may here point out 
that the line, 

' This probably refers to the well-intentioned efforts of 
Hayley to procure work for Blake in the way of miniature- 
painting, and other such minor industries of art. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XCV 

" Hired a villain to bereave my life," 
is repeated in this epigram from the poem Fair 
Eleanor in the Poetical Sketches : the other line 
also, 

" And when he could not act upon my wife," 
seems to have some affinity to the course of the 
story in Fair Eleanor — more affinity at any rate to 
that effort of the Macphersonian romancing faculty 
in verse than to aught that we can suppose to have 
taken place in real life between Mr. Hayley and 
Mrs. Blake. 



4. — Blake's Fine Aet. 

Blake's splendid, terrible, and daring imagina- 
tion was embodied with equal force in the art of 
design, and in that of poetry. " Execution," he 
has said, "is the chariot of genius" ; and never 
did that charioteer reveal himself in more unmis- 
takable guise than in the handiwork of Blake. 
To see one of his finer tempera or water-colour 
pictures, or of his partly colour-printed partly 
hand-coloured engraved designs, or of his designs 
engraved by himself on the ordinary system, is a 
new experience — one that you cannot prepare for 
nor forestall. The mysterious meaning of the work, 
its austere intensity of presentment, the rush (as 
it were) of spiritual and vital force into all its 
forms, animating them with strange fires of life 
and frenzies of endeavour, the rapture of effort 
and of repose, the stress and the hush, give these 
works a different character from aught else. In 
fact, they have not so much the semblance of in- 
ventions (highly inventive though they manifestly 
are in the ordinary esthetic sense of the word) 



XCVl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

as of visions — or, to recur to terms that we have 
already employed, of revelations or intuitions. 
There is severity, and there is beauty, each in a 
high degree : but what impresses the spectator 
most (consciously, or in many cases unconsciously) 
is the strength of receptivity or response in the de- 
signer — the energy with which he has clutched at 
the vision, the closeness of rendering with which 
he has succeeded in imparting it to others. It 
is like Iris in Homer, who receives a message from 
the God, and then recites it at length in the same 
identical words. Blake too has received the mes- 
sage, and he repeats it to us : and there is a tone 
in it which, although we never heard the original 
words, we perceive of a surety to be caught from 
the commissioning god, supernal or tartarean. 
For Blake by no means confines himself to the 
crests of Olympus, but is versed in the murk of 
Hades, and the recesses of the innermost and 
nethermost pit. 

If the ideas and the style of Blake were origi- 
nal, his processes of execution were original also. 
The way in which he engraved his principal books, 
from the Songs of Innocence to the Jerusalem and 
the Milton, was, I believe, adopted from no pre- 
decessor ; whether we regard the actual method 
of engraving employed, supplemented as it was 
by the colouring of the prints, or the intimate 
intermixture of engraved writing and designs, in 
which, as one may truly say, the art is made to 
permeate the poetry, insomuch that the union of 
the two becomes something different from what 
either of them would be alone, or both in mere 
mechanical juxtaposition. Blake himself, in a 
prospectus which he issued in 1793, spoke of his 



PKEFATORY MEMOIR. XCVll 

having " invented a method of printing both 
letter-press and engraving in a style more orna- 
mental, uniform, and grand, than any before 
discovered." Another peculiarity, almost or quite 
original, is the independence which the designs, 
spite of this very close union, preserve for them- 
selves, as distinct from the poetry : the connection 
of the two, in point of subject-matter, being often 
indistinct and dubious, and sometimes apparently 
null. Thus the designs (in many instances, but 
of course not in all) do not constitute illustrations 
of the text, but accompaniments to it, or supple- 
mentary suggestions and reinforcements. Terror 
is heaped on terror, or loveliness wedded to loveli- 
ness: each enters the mind by a separate avenue, 
of eye or ear, and impresses besides a different 
image upon it, but not a discordant one. It 
may be added that, if the writing is frequently 
unintelligible or nearly so, the allied design is 
the same; we feel its potent and arcane influence, 
but cannot dismember this into articulated mean- 
ings. 

We have referred to three species of Blake's 
artistic work : his temperas or water-colours, his 
coloured engravings, and his uncoloured engra- 
vings. As to details affecting these productions, 
a good deal might have to be said by way of 
criticism, were we now concerned with that : 
powerful but often audacious and exaggerated 
drawing, strained or impossible attitudes, con- 
ventional and sometimes vapid faces, accessories 
reduced to the barest rudiments, and generally a 
disposition to leave off as soon as the conception 
is conveyed in form and colour, whether or not 
the work has been carried on up to the recognized 



XCVlll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

standard of executive completeness. The water- 
colours, and along with them the tempera-pictures 
in their degree, are generally pale and washy in 
colour, slight in handling; and, throughout the 
whole range of Blake's art, there is a great deal 
of what we term "old-fashioned" — primitively 
jejune and stiff, not without puerility. The 
colour- worked engravings have greater strength 
and depth than the water colours, and are in 
numerous instances most forcible, not only in the 
idea of the thing to be done, but in the practical 
doing of it. The uncoloured engravings — of 
which the chief examples are the Young's Night- 
Thoughts, the Jot, the Dante, and (engraved by 
an alien hand) the Grave — include many of 
Blake's sublimest inventions and noblest treat- 
ments, — the Job in especial, which is in some 
points of view his masterpiece. Yet in the Night- 
Thoughts we find a certain hardness and crudity 
of execution ; and in the Job the characteristic 
mannerisms of form and of action appear in very 
ample measure, while the precision of handiwork 
makes these blemishes perhaps less condonable 
than in the more rapidly touched and freely 
handled designs which were engraved with a view 
to colouring. All minor points of this kind, 
however, may be left almost unnoticed, in such 
an account of Blake as ours : they merely need to 
be glanced at, not enlarged upon. E'ext after 
his majestic imagination, fertile in awfulness and 
portent, yet often also sunny and lambent like an 
of April sky, full freshness and of promise, — and 
after his potent wielding of the human form, as 
expressive of energy, aspiration, ardour, and all 
of the divine or daemonic in man — next after 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XCIX 

these great qualities we should perhaps place the 
treatment of light, and especially of flame, as 
Blake's highest distinction in art ; although, in- 
deed, his mastery over colour likewise, in certain 
vivid combinations of simplicity and of intensity, 
is very marked and admirable. 

It may be as well to give here, from Blake's 
MS. book previously spoken of, three memoranda 
showing his peculiar and ingenious processes of 
engraving : 

" To engrave on pewter,^ Let there be first a 
drawing made correctly with black-lead pencil : 
let nothing be to seek. Then rub it off on the 
plate, covered with white wax ; or perhaps pass it 
through press. This will produce certain and 
determined forms on the plate, and time will not 
be wasted in seeking them afterwards. To wood^ 
ctd on pewter. ^ Lay a ground on the plate, and 
smoke it as for etching. Then trace your outline, 
and, beginning with the spots of light on each 
object, with an oval-pointed needle scrape off the 
ground, as a direction for your graver. Then 
proceed to graving, with the ground on the 
plate ; being as careful as possible not to hurt the 
ground, because it, being black, will show per- 
fectly what is wanted. To wood-cut on copjper. 
Lay a ground as for etching. Trace, &c., and, 

^ Pewter had been used by other engravers before Blake — 
for instance, by Albert Diirer. 

2 The engraved designs by Blake to Little Tom the Sailor 
(a ballad written by Hayley) are examples of this process. 
The rather incongruous name which Blake bestowed upon it 
is of course to be understood as meaning "engraving on 
pewter in relief.^' Some methods of engraving on metal in 
relief had been known and practised from of old. 



C PREFATOKY MEMOIR. 

instead of etching the blacks, etch the whites, 
and bite it in." 

Blake's so-called frescoes, which are properly 
rather tempera-pictures than anything else, were 
painted in water-colour on a ground of glue and 
whiting laid on canvas, linen, or panel. Those on 
canvas or linen have in many instances cracked, 
and been ruined by damp. White was laid on, and 
mixed with the colours, which were tempered with 
carpenter's glue. Blake was pleased, at a later 
date in his life, to find that this process, of his 
own re-invention, was mentioned in the mediaeval 
treatise of Cennino Cennini. His colour-printed 
designs were sometimes executed in oil and water- 
colour combined. In such cases he would first 
draw his design on millboard, strong and thick, 
and paint it in oil-colour, of such kind and in such 
a state of fusion as to blur readily when printed 
off on paper. He then finished up with water- 
colour the roughly stamped and ** accidental- 
looking " impression on the paper. For a second 
impression, he repainted his outline on the mill- 
board, thus slightly varying the several prints. 

The earliest known painting by Blake, a water- 
colour afterwards varnished, was The Penance of 
Jane Shore in St. PauVs Ghitrch : this was done 
towards 1778, and some other historic-romantic 
subjects soon afterwards. War unchained hy an 
Angel — Fire, Pestilence, and Famine, following — 
dated in 1784, is the first of his ideal inventions, 
or rather the first to which a definite date can be 
affixed. The earliest tempera-picture, 1785, is 
The Bard (from Gray), which was re-exhibited in 
the collection at Burlington House in 1873 — a re- 
splendent and wonderful piece of colour, in which 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CI 

gilt is freely used, and a very bold realization in 
form of Gray's poetic framework. In the same 
year were produced the first of his scriptural treat- 
ments — the three water-colour subjects from the 
history of Joseph which were to be seen in the 
International Exhibition of 1862. A few others of 
his works, most remarkable for power or for sub- 
ject-matter, may here be particularized. It would 
be beyond our scope to describe or criticize them : 
the mere titles, in some instances, speak for them- 
selves, and testify to the imaginative force of the 
designer. 1795, The Lazar House, from Milton, 
called also The House of Death, colour-printed. 
Elohim creating Adam, similar, truly a stupendous 
thing. Newton, similar. Towards 1801, Heads of 
the Poets (eighteen), executed in tempera for 
Hayley's library at Felpham : Homer, Euripides, 
Lucan, Dante, Chaucer, Spenser, Tasso, Shak- 
speare, Sidney, Camoens, Milton, Dryden, Otway, 
Pope, Young, ^ Cowper, Yoltaire, Hay ley. 1803, 
The Sacrifice of JejphthcCs Daughter, water-colour. 
Towards 1805, Fire, similar. 1808, The Last Judg- 
ment, tempera, painted for the Countess of Egre- 
mont, and described by Blake in some detail, in 
a letter addressed to Mr. Ozias Humphrey, the 
miniature-painter. Nine designs from Paradise 
Lost, water-colour. Towards 1809, The 8jpiritual 
Form of Nelson guiding Leviathan, in whose ivreath' 
ings are enfolded the nations of the earth, tempera. 
The Spiritiml Form of Pitt guiding Behemoth, 



' I have recently been informed that the two heads here 
named (as in the catalogue drawn up by me, and printed in 
Mr. Gilchrist's vol. 2) Euripides and Young are more pro- 
bably Demosthenes (who was not however a poet) and Blair. 



Cll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

similar. The Ancient Britons ; In the last battle 
of King Arthur only three Britons escaped, — these 
were the Strongest Man, the Beautifullest Man, and 
the Ugliest Man, tempera.^ 1811, Tlie Judgment of 
Paris, colour-printed. 1822, The Wise and Foolish 
Virgins, water-colour. The Compassion of Pha- 
raoh's Daughter (Finding of Moses), similar. 
Moses erecting the Brazen Serpent, similar. Job 
confessing his presumption to God, similar, (a dif- 
ferent design from any of those in the engraved 
Jo & series : of these, two separate sets of water- 
colours exist, one belonging to Mr. Linnell, and 
the other to Lord Houghton). Bathsheha at 
the Bath, seen by David, tempera. The Plague 
stayed at the Threshing -floor of Araunah the 
Jebusite, similar. The Entombment of Christ, 
water-colour. The Sealing of the Stone of 
Christ's Sepulchre, and setting of the Watch, similar. 
The Angel rolling the stone from the Sepulchre, 
similar. Christ appearing to the Apostles after the 
Besurrection, tempera. Satan exulting over Eve, 
similar. " Thou wast perfect till iniquity was 
found in thee,'' (a figure of Lucifer), water-colour. 
An Allegory of the Spiritual Condition of Man, 
(tempera, one of Blake's largest works, some 5 J 
feet by 4 in dimensions : not unlike a Last Judg- 
ment in general conception.) The Characters in 
Spenser's Faery Queen, water-colour. The River 
of Life, similar. " Pity, lihe a nahed newborn 



^ I believe there is a tempera -picture of this subject, con- 
cerning which Blake wrote some of the most striking and 
interesting pages of his Descriptive Catalogue. I have not 
however seen any such picture, but only a water-colour in 
the ordinary mode of execution. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. ClU 

hahe,'" Sfc. (quotation from Macbeth) , colour-printed. 
Hecate, similar. The Accusers of Theft, Adultery, 
and Murder, similar. 

It is not an easy thing to express in words 
that degree of natural truth, charm, and obser- 
vation, which is to be found in Blake's work, 
combined as it is with a haughty disregard of the 
simple visual facts of JSTature, whenever he chose, 
and he often did choose, to neglect these. It was 
truly a sovereign disregard; he would be the 
king over Nature — the Ahasuerus to repudiate 
her as Yashti, or to reach out the sceptre towards 
her as Esther. Clearly, he was born, like every 
other great artist, with the seeing eye — with 
the power to discern appearances rapidly, vividly, 
and intensely, and to reproduce them at once 
if in demand, or to store them up for future 
application, direct or indirect. Many things 
that he saw he loved, and he painted them 
masterfully or tenderly. *' May God," he once 
said in his old age to a very lovely little girl, 
**make this world to you, my child, as beautiful 
as it has been to me ; " and doubtless he was 
thinking then of the material visible world, as 
well as of the general tenour of life-long experi- 
ence. But his ideal or abstract faculty acted 
with far greater strength than his simple power 
of perception and realization : he gazed athwart 
Nature, and drew, to be contemplated by the 
mind and partly by the eye, what he saw at 
the end of the perspective. The artist is a sub- 
creator : such most preeminently was Blake. 
After marvelling, with awe and worship, at the 
ocean, or the sunlit zenith, or the star-paved 
midnight sky, or the wonders of the spirit-in- 



CIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

formed human frame, we have all felt that a 
drop of water, a blade of grass, a grain or two 
of sand, a golden hair from a woman's head, 
are equally incommensurable evidences of the 
creative energy: the soul bows down before 
them with the same unf at homed sense of the 
unknown and the unknowable. Blake furnishes 
us, in his degree, with a like experience : along 
with shapes of vast imaginative appeal, he gives 
us here and there a little touch of natural beauty 
and truth — a low horizon, a winding path, a 
sprig of leafage — purely and clearly felt by him- 
self, and thoroughly enjoyable. The working 
of his ideal perception upon such materials is 
mainly in the way of simplifying and condens- 
ing : it may transmute but not falsify. He con- 
veys to us their remote suggestions, and their 
intimate presence. Often he is wilfully oblivious 
of objects of this class : but, when disposed to 
use them, he shows that they are not alien from 
his mind, or from his eye and hand. 

In taking leave of the subject of Blake's work 
in the designing art, we cannot do better than 
collect together a few of his observations on the 
relations of outward nature to the artistic faculty 
in general, and more particularly to his own : — 

" Practice and opportunity very soon teach the 
language of art. Its spirit and poetry, centred in 
the imagination alone, never can be taught ; and 
these make the artist." — " Natural objects always 
did and do weaken, deaden, and obliterate, imagi- 
nation in me." — ** The man who asserts that there 
is no such thing as softness in art, and that 
everything is definite and determinate, has not 
been told this by practice, but by inspiration and 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CV 

vision ; because vision is determinate and perfect, 
and he copies that without fatigue. Everything 
seen is definite and determinate. Softness is pro- 
duced by comparative strength and weakness, alone 
in the marking of the forms. I say these principles 
would never be found out by the study of Nature, 
without con- or in-nate science." — "No one can 
ever design till he has learned the language of art 
by making many finished copies both of Nature 
and Art, and of whatever comes in his way, from 
earliest childhood. The difi'erence between a bad 
artist and a good is that the bad artist seems to 
copy a great deal, and the good one does copy a 
great deal .... Servile copying is the great merit 
of copying .... Invention depends altogether 
upon execution or organization. As that is right 
or wrong, so is the invention perfect or imperfect. 
Michael Angelo's art depends on Michael Angelo's 
execution altogether." — " To learn the language 
of art. Copy for ever is my rule. But models are 
difficult — enslave one — efiace from one's mind a 
conception or reminiscence which was better," — 
*' Men think that they can copy Nature as cor- 
rectly as I copy imagination. This they will find 
impossible : and all the copies, or pretended copies, 
of Nature, from Eembrandt to Eeynolds, prove 
that Nature becomes to its victim nothing but 
blots and blurs. Why are copies of Nature incor- 
rect, while copies of imagination are correct ? This 
is manifest to all. The English artist may be 
assured that he is doing an injury and injustice 
to his country while he studies and imitates the 
efi'ects of Nature. England will never rival Italy 
while we servilely copy what the wise Italians, 
Eaphael and Michael Angelo, scorned, nay 

h 



CVl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

abhorred, as Vasari tells us. What kind of 
intellects must he have who sees only the colours 
of things, and not the forms of things ? JSTo man of 
sense can think that an imitation of the objects of 
ITature is the art of painting, or that such imita- 
tion (which any one may easily perform) is worthy 
of notice — ^much less that such an art should be 
the glory and pride of a nation .... If the art is 
no more than this, it is no better than any other 
manual labour." — " l^ext time I have the happi- 
ness to see you,^ I am determined to paint another 
portrait of you from life, in my best manner, for 
memory will not do in such minute operations ; 
for I have now discovered that, without nature 
before the painter's eye, he can never produce 
anything in the walks of natural painting. His- 
torical designing is one thing, and portrait-paint- 
ing another, and they are as distinct as any two 
arts can be. Happy would that man be who could 
unite them ! ... If you have not nature before you 
for every touch, you cannot paint portrait ; and, 
if you have nature before you at all, you cannot 
paint history .... JSTature and Fancy are two 
things, and can never be joined ; neither ought any 
one to attempt it, for it is idolatry, and destroys 
the soul." — " I assert for myself that I do not 
behold the outward creation, and that to me it 
is hindrance and not action. * What ! ' it will be 
questioned, ' when the sun rises, do you not see a 
disc of fire, somewhat like a guinea ? ' * Oh no, no ! 
I see an innumerable company of the heavenly 
host, crying * Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God al- 

1 Mr. Butts. This passage is extracted from a letter 
addressed to that gentleman in September, 1801. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Cvii 

mighty ! ' I question not my corporeal eye, any 
more than I would question a window, concerning 
a sight. I look through it, and not with it." 

To these remarks on l!^ature and Imagination I 
will add a few of those which Blake has left us re- 
garding other artists. As in almost all that came 
from the same hand, there is a great deal in them. 
But the reader who wishes to profit by them, and 
not to be simply misled or exasperated, must 
understand and apply them — must not extract 
from them, as for his personal guidance, a meaning 
as crude and unmodified as the phrase in which 
it is couched. Blake, alike in perception and in 
intellect, scorned the curb : he did not mince 
matters to his hearer or reader — still less when 
he was writing (as in some of these utterances) 
mere private memoranda. The frequently recur- 
ring abuse of Titian, as a bad colourist and what 
not, is rather surprising to the reader not yet fully 
broken into Blake's dicta, and must always remain 
worthy of rejection. One fact to be remembered 
is that very probably Blake had never yet seen a 
genuine (or at any rate never a first-class) Titian. 
Those were not the days of JNTational Galleries, of 
Exhibitions of Old Masters at British Institution 
or Burlington House, and of fairly accessible 
private collections of the like class. 

'* This man [Sir Joshua Eeynolds] was here 
to depress art; this is the opinion of William 
Blake. . . . While Sir Joshua was rolling in riches, 
Barry was poor and unemployed, except by his own 
energy; Mortimer was called a madman ; and only 
portrait-painting was applauded and rewarded by 
the rich and great. Eeynolds and Gainsborough 
blotted and blurred one against the other, and 



CVm PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

divided all the English world between them. Fu- 
seli, indignant, almost hid himself: I am hid." — 
'* Poetry, as it exists now on earth, in the various 
remains of ancient authors; music, as it exists in 
old tunes or melodies ; painting and sculpture, as 
they exist in the remains of antiquity, and in the 
works of more modern genius ; each is Inspiration, 
and cannot be surpassed : it is perfect and eternal. 
Milton, Shakspeare, Michael Angelo, Eaphael ; 
the finest specimens of ancient sculpture and 
painting and architecture, Gothic, Grecian, Hin- 
doo, and Egyptian, — are the extent of the human 
mind. Ihe human mind cannot go beyond the 
gift of God the Holy Ghost. To suppose that 
Art can go beyond the finest specimens of Art 
that are now in the world is not knowing what 
Art is: it is being blind to the gifts of the Spirit." 
— ** This picture [one of Blake's own, Satan calling 
up Ms Legions^ was likewise painted at inter- 
vals, for experiment on colours without any oily 
vehicle. . . . These pictures, among numerous 
others painted for experiment, were the result of 
temptations and perturbations, labouring to de- 
stroy imaginative power by means of that infernal 
machine called Chiaroscuro, in the hands of Vene- 
tian and Flemish Demons. . . . The spirit of 
Titian was particularly active in raising doubts 
concerning the possibility of executing without a 
model, and, when once he had raised the doubt, 
it became easy for him to snatch away the vision 
time after time ;^ for, when the artist took his 



^ The reader who gives a little attention to these words 
will readily perceive that there is nothing trivial or absurd 
about them, — only a different way of putting the facts. The 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CIX 

pencil to execute his ideas, his power of imagi- 
nation weakened so much, and darkened, that 
memory of Nature, and of pictures of the various 
schools, possessed his mind, instead of appro- 
priate execution resulting from the inventions. . . . 
Eubens is a most outrageous demon, and, by- 
infusing the remembrance of his pictures and 
style of execution, hinders all power of individual 
thought; so that the man who is possessed by 
this demon loses all admiration of any other artist 
but E/ubens, and those who were his imitators 
and journeymen. He causes to the Florentine 
and E/oman artist fear to execute ; and, though 
the original conception was all fire and animation, 
he loads it with hellish brownness, and blocks up 
all its gates of light except one,^ and that one he 
closes with iron bars, — till the victim is obliged to 
give up the Florentine and Eoman practice, and 
adopt the Venetian and Flemish. Correggio is a 
soft and effeminate and consequently a most cruel 
demon, whose whole delight is to cause endless 
labour to whoever suffers him to enter his mind. . . 
He infuses a love of soft and even tints without 
boundaries, and of endless reflected lights, that 
confuse one another, and hinder all correct draw- 
ing from appearing to be correct ; for, if one of 
EaphaeFs or Michael Angelo's figures was to be 



influence on Blake of Titian's pictures (or, as he prefers to 
phrase it, ** the spirit of Titian ") was such that Blake felt 
uneasy as to his own power of executing a painting without 
models ; and, being thus discouraged, he failed in attempting, 
without models, to realize his conception. All that follows 
is equally open to a rational interpretation. 

' This sounds more applicable to Rembrandt than to 
Rubens. 



ex PKEFATORY MEMOIR. 

traced, and Correggio's reflections and refractions 
to be added to it, there would soon be an end of 
proportion and strength, and it would be weak 
and pappy and lumbering and thick-headed, like 
his own works : but then it would have softness 
and evenness by a twelvemonth's labour, where 
a month would with judgment have finished it 
better and higher." — " While the works of Pope 
and Dryden are looked upon as the same art as 
those of Shakspeare and Milton, while the works 
of Strange and Woollett are looked upon as the 
same art with those of Eaphael ^ and Albert Durer, 
there can be no art in a nation but such as is 
subservient to the interest of the monopolizing 
trader. Englishmen ! rouse yourselves from the 
fatal slumber into which booksellers and trading 
dealers have thrown you, under the artfully pro- 
pagated pretence that a translation or a copy of 
any kind can be as honourable to a nation as an 
original, belying the English character in that 
well-known saying, * Englishmen improve what 
others invent.' This even Hogarth's works prove 
a detestable falsehood. 'No man can improve an 
original invention ; nor can an original invention 
exist without execution organized, delineated, and 
articulated, either by God or man. . . . The un- 
organized blots and blurs of Eubens and Titian 
are not art ; nor can their method ever express 
ideas or imaginations, any more than Pope's 
metaphysical jargon of rhyming. ... I do not 
condemn Eubens, Eembrandt, or Titian, because 
they did not understand drawing, but because 

^ Blake evidently considered (along with some other con- 
noisseurs) that Raphael had himself at times engraved de- 
signs of his own. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXI 

they did not understand colouring : how long 
shall I be forced to beat this into men's ears ? I 
do not condemn Strange or Woollett because they 
did not understand drawing, but because they did 
not understand engraving. I do not condemn 
Pope or Dryden because they did not understand 
imagination, but because they did not understand 
verse. Their colouring, graving, and verse, can 
never be applied to art : that is not either colour- 
ing, graving, or verse, which is unappropriate to 
the subject. He who makes a design must know 
the effect and colouring proper to be put to that 
design ; and will never take that of Rubens, Eem- 
brandt, or Titian, to turn that which is soul and 
life into a mill or machine." 

5. — Blake's Writings. 

The character of Blake's poetry bears, it need 
hardly be said, a considerable afl&nity to that of 
his work in the art of design ; he himself, it is 
said, thought the former the finer of the two. 
There is, however, no little difierence between 
them, when their main elements are considered 
proportionally. In both, Blake almost totally 
ignores actual life and its evolution, and the pas- 
sions and interactions of men as elicited by the 
wear and tear of real society. True, individual 
instances might be cited where he has in view 
some topic of the day, or some incident of life, 
simple or harrowing, such as social or dramatic 
writers might take cognizance of. But these 
also he treats with a primitiveness or singularity 
which, if it does not remove the subjects from our 
sympathy — and a few cases of very highly sympa- 



CXll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

thetic treatment are to be found — does at least 
leave them within the region of the ideal, or 
sometimes of the intangible. As a rule, Blake 
does not deal at all with the complicated practical 
interests of life, or the influence of these upon 
character; but he possesses the large range of 
primordial emotion, from the utter innocence and 
happy unconscious instinct of infancy, up to fche 
fervours of the prophet, inspired to announce, to 
judge, and to reprobate. 

This range of feeling and of faculty is, as we 
have just said, expressed equally in the designs 
and in the poetryvof Blake, but not in the same 
proportions. In the designs, the energetic, the 
splendid, the majestic, the grand, the portentous, 
the terrific, play the larger part, and constitute 
the finer portion of the work ; while the softer 
emotions, and the perception of what is gentle in 
its loveliness, are both less prominent in quantity, 
and realized with less mastery and sureness. In 
the poems these conditions are reversed. We 
find Blake expressing frequently and with the 
most limpid and final perfection — in some of its 
essential aspects, unsurpassed or indeed un- 
equalled — the innocent and simple impulses of 
human nature ; the laughter and prattle of a baby, 
the vivid transforming freshness of youthful love, 
the depth and self-devotion of parental afi'ection, 
the trust in the Father whom the eye hath not 
seen. Yery noble utterance is also given from 
time to time to some subject of discipline or of 
awe to the human soul, or even of terror: but 
generally it is not with these topics that Blake 
deals in his lyrical poems. He reserves them for 
his Prophetic Books, written in a style which. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXlll 

though poetical and rhapsodic, does not bring 
the works within the pale of verse, and barely 
allows them to obtain access to the human under- 
standing. It is in these scriptures, rather 
than in the poems properly so called, that we 
have to seek for the written counterpart of that 
supernatural stress and that sense of the appal- 
ling — now profound in its quietude, now almost 
bacchant in its orgies — which tell upon us so 
potently in his designs ; and certainly the written 
form of all this is by no means equal to the plastic 
one. Leaving these Prophetic Books for the 
present, we may say of the other rhythmic poems 
that the spiritual intuition of which we have 
already spoken as Blake's most central faculty, 
and a lyric outflow the purest and most spon- 
taneous, fashioning the composition in its general 
mould, and drifting aright each word and cadence, 
are the most observable and precious qualities. 
This statement as to the wording and cadences 
must of course be understood with due limitation ; 
for Blake, exquisitely true to the mark as he can 
come in such matters, is often also palpably faulty 
— transgressing even the obvious laws of gram- 
mar and of metre. Power of thought is likewise 
largely present in several cases ; not of analytic 
or reasoning thought, for which Blake had as 
little turn in his poems as liking in his dicta^ but 
broad and strong intellectual perception, telling 
in aid of that still higher and primary faculty of 
intuition. 

Blake had more natural mastery over the ora- 
cular sublime than over the heroic sublime, and 
incomparably greater practice in the former. 
When he attempted the latter, he generally lost 



CXIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

himself in an Ossianic tumidity and mistiness; 
he would himself have accepted as praise any 
criticism assimilating him with Ossian, as he 
openly professed to admire and believe in the 
volume ushered into the world by Macpherson. 
The Ossianic tendency is to be traced, for instance, 
in the poem Faif Eleanor, one of the Poetical 
Shetches, and most especially in a long unpub- 
lished demi-poem named Tiriel. Givin, King of 
Norway, also in the Poetical Shefches, is a more 
than commonly favourable specimen of the same 
Ossianic afflatus, blended with that of our old 
ballads. In the Fair Eleanor, another super- 
added influence, derived from the Gastle of Otranto 
or the like thrilling romance, can also be surmised. 
I have already made mention of the sequence 
of Blake's lyrical writings, printed during his life- 
time ; the Poetical SJcetches, Songs of Innocence, 
Songs of Experience. The Booh of Thel (which, 
although not strictly lyrical nor rhymed, I have 
thought fairly admissible into the present collec- 
tion) came out in the same year as the first series 
of the Songs. The other poems — among which the 
Brolcen Love may be cited for its excellence, and 
The Everlasting Gospel for its importance in scale 
and purport — are mostly of uncertain date ; pro- 
bably the great majority of them were written 
later than the Songs of Experience, but I have no 
reason for regarding any of them as the product 
of the closing years of Blake's life. He was thirty- 
seven years of age at the date (1794) of the publica- 
tion of the Experience : and, allowing for some 
exception here or there, I infer that all his extant 
lyrical work was executed before he had lapsed 
into the fifties. The Poetical Sketches are simply 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXV 

astonishing; whether we regard the fact that 
they were written between Blake's twelfth and 
twentieth years, or reflect that they thus pre- 
ceded even the first publications of Cowper and 
of Burns, not to speak of other and later authors 
in whose work the modern spirit and tone of 
poetry are more distinctly perceptible. Blake, 
in truth, when in his teens, was a wholly unique 
poet ; far ahead of his contemporaries, and of his 
predecessors of three or four generations, equally 
in what he himself could do, and in his sympathy 
for olden sources of inspiration. In his frag- 
mentary drama of Edward the Third we recognize 
one who has loved and studied Shakspeare to good 
purpose : and several of the short lyrics in the 
Poetical Sketches have the same sort of pungent 
perfume — indefinable but not evanescent — that 
belongs to the choicest Elizabethan songs ; the 
like play of emotion, — or play of colour, as it might 
be termed; the like ripeness and roundness, poetic, 
and intolerant of translation into prose. At the 
time when Blake wrote these songs, and for a long 
while before, no one was doing anything of at all 
the same kind. Not but that, even in Blake, 
lines and words occur here and there betraying 
the fadeur of the eighteenth century.^ 

It cannot be said that he ever surpassed in 
absolute lyrical gift, nor yet indeed in literary 
finish, the most excellent things in his earliest 
volume. The Songs of Innocence, however, are, 

^ Take for instance the line (from a peculiarly lovely and 
very early poem in the Poetical Sketches), 

" And Phoebus fired my vocal rage ; " 
or this from the couplets To Mrs, Butts (1800), 

" Receive this tribute from a harp sincere." 



CXVl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

taken in their totality, fully up to the same mark ; 
and they have the additional value conferred by 
unity of scheme, and relation of parts. Some of 
the little poems included in this series are the 
most perfect expression ever given (so far as I 
know) to babe-life — to what a man can remember 
of himself as an infant, or can enter into as ex- 
isting in other infants, or can love as of the essence 
of infancy, Blake was a believer (with more or 
less exactness of dogma) in the preexistence of 
the human soul. These poems are very like the 
utterance of a babe, sentient at once of its pre- 
sent infantine and of its past matured existence ; 
feeling the life and thinking the thoughts of in- 
fancy, yet feeling and thinking all this through 
the medium of a higher consciousness, a fullness 
of spiritual stature which once was, and again 
shall be. The comparative merit of the Songs of 
Innocence and the later- written Songs of Experi- 
ence has been debated by competent critics, with 
diverse conclusions. To me it seems that the 
finest compositions in the Experience are fully as 
admirable as the finest in the Innocence ; the un- 
successful items, however, being more numerous, 
and the faulty elements throughout producing a 
more damaging efiect. The tone of thought, neces- 
sarily more varied, is also, in a sense, more 
elevated, but not so constantly well sustained or 
at unity with itself. 

The Songs of Experience here and there, and also 
the Booh of Thel (not to speak of examples even in 
the earlier poems) show us something of the 
obscure side of Blake's poetry ; his arbitrary use 
of words and symbols, and a certain way he had 
of hurrying his conceptions into shape. Clearly, 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXVU 

no poet had conceptions more immediate : Blake, 
by an inchoate method of execution, where things 
are said with as much abruptness as vividness, 
and are indicated or approximated rather than ex- 
hibited, and so left to explain themselves or not 
as the case may turn out, succeeds in conveying to 
his reader a good deal of this same immediate 
impression felt by himself. It cannot be so 
sudden and striking to the reader as it was to the 
writer ; but the very obscurity serves to make it 
rapid. The reader, while he feels that explanation 
is needed (and explanation can only be a lengthy 
process, and so far conflicts with the immediate- 
ness of impression) has a sense also of something 
hastily presented to him, and as hastily withdrawn. 
He snatches a meaning, or else must miss it ; for, 
before he has time to think it out, another image 
has replaced the former one. In some of the re- 
maining poems the obscurity increases ; and a 
certain proportion of them is really not intelli- 
gible, save by an effort of conjecture : I may cite 
The Crystal Gahinet, The Mental Traveller, and 
William Bond. The two former, however, with 
all their difficulty, are exceedingly fine ; and some 
others of our volume, especially Brolcen Love and 
Auguries of Innocence, rank among Blake's noblest 
performances. The Everlasting Gospel, again, is 
in parts enough to baulk the interpreting faculty 
of the most ingenious, were it required to sub- 
stitute a precise explanation for the furor of the 
poet, itself combined out of the passion of worship 
and the passion of contradiction. This extra- 
ordinary poem, and the great majority of those 
which follow it in our volume, were not published 
during Blake's life. The Everlasting Gos^pel, in 



CXVlll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

fact, had never till now been published anywhere 
in full ; the others, with comparatively few excep- 
tions, appeared for the first time in Mr. Gilchrist's 
book. Along with The Everlasting Gospel, some 
other brief compositions are now for the first time 
reproduced in a printed shape from the MS. book 
by Blake belonging to Mr. Dante G. Eossetti. 
These waifs and strays include a few of the Epi- 
grams and Satirical Pieces on Art and Artists; some 
of which, as also of the Couplets and Fragments, 
are more grotesque than vivacious, and a few not 
far removed from pointless absurdity. Every now 
and then, however, Blake shows a real epigram- 
matic faculty: he hits a stinging and ringing 
stroke, the sound of which is easily remembered 
by whoever heard it, and the sensation of it 
assuredly never forgotten by the person to whom 
it was administered. 

Of some of Blake's early poems, it has been ob- 
served by a very discerning critic,^ — and the same 
remark might be applied to his poetical works 
generally — *' They have the grandeur of lofty 
simplicity, not of laboured pomp ; a grandeur 
like that which invests our imaginations of the 
patriarchs. By a well, beneath a palm-tree, 
stands one who wears but a linen turban and a 

^ The gentleman who, under the signature of " B. V. " 
wrote some articles in the National Reformer in 1866, re- 
viewing Mr. Gilchrist's book. This is the same writer who 
has produced in 1874, also in the National Reformer, an ex- 
tremely remarkable poem, of philosophical meaning and 
symbolic or visionary form, named The City of Dreadful 
Night, It was preceded, three or four years ago, by another 
poem, fully as noticeable but practically unknown, entitled 
Weddah and Om el Bonain, an oriental story of passion and 
adverse fate. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Cxix 

simple flowing robe, and who but watches brows- 
ing sheep, and camels drinking : yet no modern 
monarch, however gorgeously arrayed and bril- 
liantly surrounded, can compare with him in 
majesty." And again : " Every man living in 
seclusion, and developing an intense interior life, 
comes to give quite a peculiar significance to 
certain words and phrases and emblems. Meta- 
phors which to the common bookwrights and 
journalists are mere handy counters, symbols 
almost as abstract and unrelated to the things 
they represent as are the x and y and z used in 
solving an algebraic problem, are, for him, burden- 
ed with rich and various freights of spiritual 
experience. They are ships in which he has 
sailed over uncharted seas to unmapped shores ; 
with which he has struggled through wild tem- 
pests, and been tranced in divine calms ; in which 
he has returned with treasures from all the zones : 
and he loves them as the sailor loves his ship. 
His writings may thus appear, to any one reading 
them for the first time, very obscure, and often 
very ludicrous : the strange reader sees a battered 
old hull, where the writer sees a marvellous cir- 
cumnavigation.'* 

The latter of these two extracts applies more 
particularly to the Po'opJietic Boolcs, to which 
we must now devote some little attention. Among 
writers concerning Blake, the only one who has 
ever conned these works without being bewildered 
and stunned, and hounded into desperation and 
denunciation, is Mr. Swinburne : he has made a 
real study of the books, in the spirit at once of an 
admirer and an investigator — an enthusiastic ad- 
mirer of what is great in Blake, and an undaunted 



CXX PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

investigator of what is profound, or intelligible, 
or difficult, or frantic, in the books. He has 
probed each of them singly, and all of them col- 
lectively,, feeling that what Blake regarded as a 
sublime religious revelation is probably as well 
deserving of attention as some of the other less 
neglected manifestations of the combined faculties 
of faith and of poetic rapture. One of his obser- 
vations may be extracted here, as needing to be 
borne in mind on the very threshold of any such 
disquisition. " There are two points in the 
work of Blake which first claim notice and 
explanation ; his mysticism, and his mythology. 
This latter is in fact hardly more, in its relation to 
the former, than the clothes to the body, or the 
body to the soul. To make either comprehensible, 
it is requisite above all things to get sight of the 
man in whom they became incarnate and active 
as forces or as opinions." I shall not attempt 
here to do over again in a hurry and inadequately 
what Mr. Swinburne has done deliberately, and 
with excellent judgment and insight ; but would 
in the main refer the reader to that gentleman's 
book, supplemented by only a few remarks in ex- 
tension of what I have already said with respect 
to Blake's ideas and his writings. 

Ample evidence exists to satisfy us that Blake 
had real conceptions in the metaphysical or su- 
persensual regions of thought — conceptions which 
might have been termed speculations in other 
people, but in him rather intuitions ; and that the 
Prophetic Books embody these in some sort of 
way cannot be disputed. He did not want them 
to be exactly understood, in the analytical, un- 
ravelling sense. " Allegory addressed to the 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXXl 

intellectual powers" (he has written apropos of the 
Jerusalem), *' while it is altogether hidden from 
the corporeal understanding, is my definition of 
the most sublime poetry." The Prophetic Books 
have indeed sublimity and power in large measure ; 
invention both of mythology and of imagery ; and 
much which, if it does not take hold of the imagi- 
nation of the reader, does at least appeal to it. 
Yet, after everything that ought to be allowed in 
favour of the Prophetic Books has been conceded, 
I must confess my opinion that they are, taken as 
a whole, neither readable nor even entirely sane 
performances. They are dark and chaotic to the 
extremest degree ; ponderous and turbid ; bat- 
tling and baffling, like the arms of a windmill 
when the wind blows shiftingly from all quarters ; 
full of action as inconceivable as the personages, 
and personages as insoluble as their acts ; replete 
with uncouth and arbitrary nomenclature, — hiero- 
glyphics sometimes seemingly void of demotic 
equivalents. Urizen, Fuzon, Los and Enithar- 
mon^ (Time and Space), Theotormon, Ahania, 
Har and Heva, Ore, Eintrah, Palamabron ; and, 
for places, Golgonooza, Bowlahoola (Art and Law), 
&c. — such are the names with which Blake con- 
demns us to become familiar before we can so 
much as begin to follow out his revelations and 
his myths. Yarious passages are truly formless, 
according to any admissible standard of poetic or 



*■ Mr. Oliver Madox-Brown has pointed out to me that 
Los must be an anagram of Sol (quite an appropriate name 
for the Time spirit). Following this clue, one can turn 
Enitharmon into An°.rithmon, numberless, limitless. Ore 
may possibly be made out of Cor. 



CXXll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

rhapsodic form : a much greater number yield no 
stable or tangible sense, — they hurtle in your 
ears, and are gone. ^Notwithstanding all this, the 
greatness of the man — the directness and force of 
his mind, and sometimes its vigorous grasp as 
well — are abundantly evident in the Prophetic 
Books. A reader susceptible to poetic influences 
cannot make light of them ; nor can one who has 
perused Mr. Swinburne's essay affect to consider 
that they lack meaning — positive and important, 
though not definite and developed, meaning. If 
an intellectual man were relegated to entire soli- 
tude for some months or years, with nothing to 
read except Blake's Prophetic Books, he would 
naturally study and ponder them ; piece together 
their myths, trace their connection, reason out 
their system. If at the end of the process he 
considered these works altogether right and fine, 
or even absolutely free from a tinge of something 
other than sanity, he would have arrived at a con- 
clusion difierent from mine : but I have no 
hesitation in thinking that he would relish the 
books vastly more at the close than at the com- 
mencement of his studies, and that his admiration 
for them would be all the stronger in proportion 
to the elevation and amplitude of his own mind. 
He would be quite capable of ranging them among 
the most inspired, as certainly among the most 
uncommon, productions of the human intellect. 

We have already run over the names of the 
Prophetic Books ; but will here add a few words, 
chiefly to point out the main bearings of them in 
relation to some of the special dominant ideas 
which pre-occupied Blake. 

The poem of Tiriel, now for the first time 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXXUl 

published/ is not precisely a "Prophetic Book" ; 
rather a mystic legendary story, of a primaeval 
or Titanic kind — a piece of ** Cyclopean architec- 
ture " in verse ; corresponding, in the narrative 
class, to what the other Prophetic Books represent 
in the visionary or mythic -doctrinal class. Blake 
evidently at one time attached some considerable 
degree of importance to Tiriel, as he illustrated 
it with a series of designs in Indian ink, twelve 
in number.2 It has a certain (as one might 
term it) Indo-Ossianic grandeur. The story,. 



* This poem exists in Blake's handwriting, and the MS. 
was, until recently, the property of Mrs. Gilchrist. It was 
read by me prior to the publication of Mr. Gilchrist's Life of 
Blake in 1863. While the present edition of Blake's Poems, 
was in preparation, I had not an opportunity of re-examining- 
the composition, so as to provide for including it in the con- 
tents of this volume ; finally, however, it has been forth- 
coming, and I am clearly of opinion it ought not to be 
omitted. Tirkl appears printed at the end of our collection : 
its correct place, according to order of date, would, I conceive, 
have been just before or just after Thel. Blake's MS. of 
Tirielis neatly executed, and is evidently not the rough first 
draft : the handwriting appears to me to belong to no late 
period in his life. This character of handwriting prevails up 
to near the close of the poem. With the words (in section 8) 
" I am Tiriel, King of the West," a new and less precise 
kind of handwriting begins ; clearly indicating, I think, that 
Blake, after an interval of some years, took up the poem 
and finished it, perhaps in much more summary fashion than 
he had at first intended. 

^ These are entered in my catalogue of Blake's designs 
in Gilchrist's vol. 2, "Uncoloured Works, No. 156." They 
are certainly, as Mr. Swinburne has pointed out, meant to 
illustrate Tiriel, although this fact is only dubiously sug- 
gested in my catalogue. Mr. Swinburne (pp. 199, 200, of 
his book) gives a brief exposition of the probable purport of 
Tiriel, not, in essentials, much unlike what I find to sav 
about it in the text. 



CXXIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

merely as a narration, is clear enough, but the 
raison d'etre of the agents and incidents is any- 
thing but perspicuous. A brief account of the 
personages will perhaps assist us to as much 
understanding of the poem as can be needed by 
way of introduction. Har and Heva (named also 
in The Song of Los) are here encountered. They 
are shown as lapsed, through extreme old age, 
into a second childhood, and tended by their 
nurse Mnetha : they symbolize, I apprehend, 
some such aboriginal pair of universal parents as 
Adam and Eve. They are the parents or pro- 
genitors of Tiriel, " King of the West," who, at 
the end of the poem, reproaches Har for his mis- 
government of his children. Tiriel represents, 
perhaps, tyrannic coercion of thought and cha- 
racter, more especially what we call " hypocrisy." 
He has misruled his own children, by repression 
and terrorism, as much as Har had spoiled his by 
trusting all to uncultured animal instinct. Tiriel's 
sons are denounced and cursed by him as rebels, 
and finally his curse slays the great majority of 
them. He is, throughout the course of the 
poem, a blind and despairing outcast, hating 
and hated. He has a strong and mighty brother, 
Ijim, and an oppressed and desolate brother, 
Zazel ; both of them now at last despising him. 
After a Babel of anathemas, denunciations, and 
eyeless gropings, Tiriel also expires, and the poem 
closes. 

Of the published, or rather engraved and pur- 
chasable, Prophetic Books, the earliest is The 
Booh of Thel (1789), shorter and more idyllic than 
others, quasi-rhythmical, and not diflficult to follow 
in its general scope and particular evolution, 



PRErATORY MEMOm. CXXV 

though there are various details likely to give the 
reader pause : it is reproduced in our volume. 
The Marriage of Heaven and Sell (1790) is a mag. 
nificent work, and may be counted the very 
greatest monument of Blake's genius as a writer. 
It is in the highest degree startling, and demands 
careful thinking on the reader's part : if this is 
accorded, it can be understood and laid to heart. 
The chief subject-matter is the nature of good and 
evil (with reference to which a short passage has 
been extracted at our p. Ixxxvi.), and their recipro- 
cal necessity. Though permeated with poetic fire 
and energy, the work is undisguisedly in prose. 
The Visions of the Daughters of Albion (1793) pro- 
claims the vigorous and '* emancipated" views 
which Blake entertained on questions of sexual 
relation. This book, and those which remain to 
be mentioned, are not exactly prose, nor yet ex- 
actly poetry, so far as the form of the composition 
is concerned. They are written in a rhapsodical 
turmoil of thought and of imagery, which finds its 
most fitting expression in measures not meted 
out, rolling and semi-rhythmical, often moreover 
printed with gratuitous and troublesome disregard 
of metrical sequence, doing less than justice to the 
sound of the words. They surge on, overlapping 
the sense and the reader's faculty of analytical at- 
tention, flecked here and there with resonances and 
recurrences. This way of writing conformed in 
some degree to the Ossian type, but of course with 
much more volume of sound, corresponding to its 
exaltation, if also its shadowiness and sometimes 
its inflation, of motive. Blake himself, in some 
prefatory words to the Jerusalem,, has characterized 
the form of it as follows : — 



CXXVl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

" When this verse was first dictated to me, I 
considered a monotonous cadence (like that used by 
Milton and Shakspeare, and all writers of English 
blank verse, derived from the modern bondage of 
rhyming) to be a necessary and indispensable 
part of the verse. But I soon found that, in the 
mouth of a true orator, such monotony was not 
only awkward, but as much a bondage as rhyme 
itself. I therefore have produced a variety in 
every line, both in cadence and number of syllables. 
Every word and every letter is studied, and put 
into its place. The terrific numbers are reserved 
for the terrific parts, the mild and gentle for the 
mild and gentle parts, and the prosaic for inferior 
parts : all are necessary to each other." 

America, Europe, Africa, and Asia (the Song of 
Los) — produced from 1793 to 1795 — are entitled 
'* Prophecies ; " not so much that they profess to 
foreshadow future events as that they present a 
stupendous panorama contemplated by a mystic 
in vision. The Booh of TJrizen, followed by The 
Boole of Ahania (1794-95), derives more parti- 
cularly from the theological side of Blake's mind 
— his conceptions regarding the Creator, as dis- 
tinct from the Supreme Benevolence; Urizen 
himself being by far the greatest dramatic ima- 
gination which Blake has attained to or bequeathed 
to us, and in a certain way really potent and 
taking despotic possession of the mind. He re- 
presents the "jealous God" of the Old Testament, 
as reinterpreted by the seer into a different range 
of religious ideas. Jerusalem, the Emanation of 
the Giant Albion (1804), dijffers considerably from 
the earlier Prophetic Books, both in subject and 
in manner, although referable to the same general 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXXVU 

fount of inspiration. It is no doubt adverted to 
in the following very impressive passage from the 
Descriptive Catalogue, and the battered and panting 
commentator cannot hope to put the matter much 
more clearly. " The Strong Man represents the 
human sublime; the Beautiful Man represents 
the human pathetic, which was, in the wars of 
Eden, divided into male and female ; the Ugly 
Man represents the human reason. They were 
originally one man, who was fourfold; he was 
«elf-divided, and his real humanity slain on the 
stems of generation, and the form of the fourth 
was like the Son of God. How he became divided 
is a subject of great sublimity and pathos. The 
artist has written it under inspiration, and will, 
if God please, publish it : it is voluminous, and 
contains the ancient history of Britain, and the 
world of Satan and of Adam. The Giant Albion 
was Patriarch of the Atlantic : he is the Atlas of 
the Greeks, — one of those the Greeks called 
Titans." And elsewhere: " Albion our ancestor, 
Patriarch of the Atlantic Continent, whose history 
preceded that of the Hebrews, and in whose sleep, 
or chaos, creation began. . . . Imagination is sur- 
rounded by the Daughters of Inspiration, who, in 
the aggregate, are called Jerusalem." A few 
words of further characterization may be borrowed 
from Mr. Swinburne. *' The enormous Jerusalem 
is simply a fervent apocalyptic discourse on the 
old subjects, — ^love without law and against law ; 
virtue that stagnates into poisonous dead matter 
by moral isolation ; sin that must exist for the 
sake of being forgiven, forgiveness that must 
always keep up with sin, — must even maintain 
sin, that it may have something to keep up with 



CXXvni PREFATOIIT MEMOIR. 

and to live for. Without forgiveness of sins, the 
one thing necessary, we lapse each man into 
separate self-righteousness, and a cruel worship 
of natural morality and religious law. For Nature 
(oddly enough, as it seems at first sight) is as- 
sumed by this mystical code to be the cruellest 
and narrowest of absolute moralists. Only by 
worship of imaginative impulse, the grace of the 
Lamb of God, which admits infinite indulgence 
in sin, and infinite forgiveness of sin — only by 
some such faith as this shall the world be renewed 
and redeemed." But Mr. Swinburne cautions the 
possible (I will not say the probable) reader 
against so much as essaying to understand some 
parts of the plan of the Jerusalem, ** Neither let 
any attempt to plant a human foot upon the soil 
of the newly- divided shires and counties, parti- 
tioned though they be into the mystic likeness of 
the twelve tribes of Israel. Nor let any questioner 
of arithmetical mind apply his skill in numbers to 
the finding of flaws or products in the twelves, 
twenty-fours, and twenty-sevens, which make up 
the sum of their male and female Emanations." 
The poem named Milton (1804) reveals various 
arcana on the like moral and other subjects ; 
among them (to quote again from Mr. Swin- 
burne) " the incarnation, and descent into earth 
and hell, of Milton — who represents here the re- 
demption by inspiration, working in pain and 
difficulty before the expiration of the six thousand 
years " (i. e., the period of mundane existence, 
according to Mosaic chronology). The only re- 
maining and very brief Prophetic Book, The 
Ghost of Abel (published in 1822), takes a dra- 
matic form, once more enforcing the doctrine of 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXxix 

the forgiveness of sins. The inscription which 
precedes it may be given here, — ^both as a com- 
pendious example of the union of quaintness, 
profundity, and mysticism, which the Prophetic 
Books exhibit, and as reminding us of the long 
lapse of time during which the great-souled Blake 
wrote on, and found next to no listeners — from a 
date preceding the first volume of Oowper to 
a date only two years before the death of Byron. 

" To Lord Byron in the Wilderness.— What dost thou here, 

Elijah? 
Can a poet doubt the visions of Jehovah ? 
Nature has no outline, but Imagination has : 
Nature has no time, but Imagination has : 
Nature has no supernatural, and dissolves : Imagination is 

Eternity." 

6. — Editoeial Details. 

The Prophetic Books, at which we have now 
given a hasty and half-shuddering glance, are ex- 
cluded from the present edition of Blake's poems ; 
exception being made in favour of Tiriel, and of 
The Booh of Thel, as already mentioned. Our col- 
lection professes to give only the lyrical poems, 
and two or three others naturally associated with 
them; whereas the Prophetic Books are not 
exactly poems at all in point of form, and are 
certainly not lyrical poems. It would neverthe- 
less be highly desirable that these books, now 
practically inaccessible, should be republished 
one day in ordinary book-shape; Blake will be 
but imperfectly known even to his enthusiasts 
until this is done. The series should include TJie 
French BevoUtion, and should be completed by 



CXXX PKEFATORT MEMOIR. 

the addition of two works, one of which has 
never yet got beyond the MS. stage of existence : 
— 1. Vala, or the Death and Judgment of the 
Ancient Man, a Bream of Nine Nights, which Mr. 
Linnell possesses, but which perhaps no human 
being ever read : 2. Outhoun, which appears to 
have really existed as an engraved and illustrated 
book, but which remains as yet totally untrace- 
able. 

With the exception of this very extraordinary 
— and in candour it must be added very unread- 
able — series of works, our edition presents the 
whole body of Blake's poetry.^ It includes the 
Foetical S'ketches; the Songs of Innocence and oi Ex- 
perience ; Thel ; Tiriel ; the verses thinly scattered 
among other books written by Blake, or in his 
correspondence ; the miscellaneous poems that 
were first published in Mr. Gilchrist's book, and 
afterwards (by Mr. Pickering) partly reproduced, 
following an edition of the Innocence and Expe^ 
rience, — the majority of these miscellaneous com- 
positions coming from the MS. book that belongs 
to Mr. D. G. Eossetti, and the remainder from 
another MS. ; and finally various poems, also 
from Mr. Eossetti's MS. book, that had as yet not 
been published at all, or at any rate not in full. 
Of the chief of these. The Everlasting Gospel, all 
but a few lines appear — but not as a continuous 
unbroken composition — in Mr. Swinburne's book : 



^ Or, in literal strictness, the whole body of it except 
three compositions, omitted here on grounds of copyright. 
These are (1) a sort of grotesque ballad named Long John 
Brown and Little Mary Bell yin all respects an unregrettable 
item; and (2 and 3) two slight songs, By a Shepherd, and 
By an Old Shepherd, 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXXXl 

others had been omitted from Mr. Gilchrist's, as 
not being of sufl&cient value or substance to 
figure in that selection of Blake's best things. In 
the present complete edition, however, it seems 
only reasonable to include them, as they are, in 
my judgment, good enough or curious enough for 
preservation. There are still some others in the 
same MS. book which, for one reason or another, 
are not inserted here, — mostly because they are 
loose, scrappy, unfinished jottings, not to be 
numbered, even by lax indulgence, among the 
works that can represent Blake to the present and 
future generations of readers. One of these, en- 
titled The Marriage Bing, has been printed by 
Mr. Swinburne : to me it appears a performance 
of too much tenuity and caprice for reproduction 
here. The same gentleman has given a second 
previously unpublished scrap, from a difierent 
source, beginning 

'' A fairy leapt upon my knee :" 

this also I omit, for a like reason. Another speci- 
men of the compositions that I miss out from the 
text is the epigram on Hayley quoted on p. xciii. 
of this memoir. As a poem, it is not worthy of 
preservation ; but it has its use in the way of elu- 
cidating Blake's mental peculiarities. 

In reproducing the Poetical SJcetches in the pre- 
sent volume, I have followed the reprint which 
was published by Mr. Pickering in 1868, under the 
editorship of Mr. R. H. Shepherd. I thus forego 
certain emendations which were introduced by my 
brother into that earlier reprint which appears 
in Mr. Gilchrist's book, vol. 2, of some selected 



CXXXll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

poems from the same series. These emendations 
were indeed great improvements, and they rectify 
various annoying and inexcusable laxities in point 
of metre or syntax, or here and there of expression. 
It is therefore with considerable reluctance that I 
abandon them, and do Blake the disservice of again 
presenting him without their aid. My brother 
felt that he could introduce them (as observed in 
his prefatory note) " without once in the slightest 
degree affecting the originality of the text ": nor 
do I intend to express here any opinion to the 
contrary effect. There is, however, I conceive, a 
certain degree of difference between the treatment 
which may be legitimately applied to extracted 
poems reprinted for the first time, and serving 
partly to illustrate and adorn a biographical re- 
cord, and the same poems when they form a 
portion of an edition of the author's works, simply 
as such. At any rate, as the compositions in 
question have been already reproduced at a date 
intermediate between that of my brother's editing 
and of the present volume, and were then printed 
in their original shape (which term includes 
their occasional original shapelessness), I have 
not felt justified in recurring to another form of 
the same poems, which, if better, as it assuredly 
is, is also less absolutely exact. 

Let me but hope that Blake's spirit, if conscious 
of what is here being done for the maintenance 
of his name and fame, would not resent this 
damaging adherence to authenticity. Blake at 
times (as we may remember), when limning his 
visionary sitters, had to exclaim, " He frowns — 
he is displeased with my portrait of him." He 
in his turn might now perchance frown and be 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. CXXxiii 

displeased at finding that the present re-issue 
of the Poetical SJcetches furnishes a ** portrait" 

of himself— a reflex of his " spiritual form " less 

advantageous than another which is already cur- 
rent among readers and admirers of his work. 
But I am fain to hope the reverse ; with which 
trust, and the preceding faint elucidations, I com- 
mit to public regard this first collected edition of 
Blake's Lyrical Poems. 

W. M. KOSSETTI. 




POEMS. 



POETICAL SKETCHES. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 




HE following Sketches were the produc- 
tion of untutored youth, commenced in 
his twelfth, and occasionally resumed 
by the author till his twentieth year ; 
since which time, his talents having been wholly 
directed to the attainment of excellence in his 
profession, he has been deprived of the leisure 
requisite to such a revisal of these sheets as 
might have rendered them less unfit to meet the 
public eye. 

Conscious of the irregularities and defects to be 
found in almost every page, his friends have still 
believed that they possessed a poetical originality 
which merited some respite from oblivion. These 
their opinions remain, however, to be now reproved 
or confirmed by a less partial public. 




KING EDWAED THE THIRD. 

PERSONS. 

King Edward. Sir Thomas Dagworth. 

The Black Prince. Sir Walter Manny. 

Queen Philippa. Lord Audley. 

Duke of Clarence. Lord Percy. 

Sir John Chandos. Bishop. 

William, Dagworth^s man. 

Peter Blunt, a common soldier, 

SCENE.— TAe Coast of France. 
King Edwaed and Nobles before it. The Army. 

KING. 

THOU to whose fury the nations are 
But as dust ! maintain thy servant's 

right. 
Without thine aid, the twisted mail, 
and spear, 
And forged helm, and shield of seven -times beaten 

brass, 
Are idle trophies of the vanquisher. 
When confusion rages, when the field is in a flame, 




4 blake's poems. 

When the cries of blood tear horror from heaven. 
And yelling Death runs up and down the ranks, 
Let Liberty, the chartered right of Englishmen, 
Won by our fathers in many a glorious field, 
Enerve my soldiers ; let Liberty 
Blaze in each countenance, and fire the battle. 
The enemy fight in chains, invisible chains, but 

heavy ; 
Their minds are fettered ; then how can they be 

free? 
While, like the mounting flame, 
We spring to battle o'er the floods of death ! 
And these fair youths, the flower of England, 
Venturing their lives in my most righteous cause. 
Oh sheathe their hearts with triple steel, that they 
May emulate their fathers' virtues ! 
And thou, my son, be strong ; thou fightest for a 

crown 
That death can never ravish from thy brow, 
A crown of glory — but from thy very dust 
Shall beam a radiance, to fire the breasts 
Of youth unborn ! Our names are written equal 
In Fame's wide-trophied hall ; 'tis ours to gild 
The letters, and to make them shine with gold 
That never tarnishes : whether Third Edward, 
Or the Prince of Wales, or Montacute, or Mortimer, 
Or ev'n the least by birth, shall gain the brightest 

fame, 
Is in His hand to whom all men are equal. 
The world of men are like the numerous stars 
That beam and twinkle in the depth of night, 
Each clad in glory according to his sphere ; 
But we, that wander from our native seats 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 5 

And beam forth lustre on a darkling world, 
Grow large as we advance : and some perhaps 
The most obscure at home, that scarce were seen 
To twinkle in their sphere, may so advance 
That the astonished world, with upturned eyes, 
Regardless of the moon, and those that once were 

bright, 
Stand only for to gaze upon their splendour. 

[He here hnights the Prince and other 
young Nobles, 
Now let us take a just revenge for those 
Brave Lords who fell beneath the bloody axe 
At Paris. Thanks, noble Har court, for 'twas 
By your advice we landed here in Brittany, 
A country not yet sown with destruction, 
And where the fiery whirlwind of swift war 
Has not yet swept its desolating wing. — 
Into three parties we divide by day. 
And separate march, but join again at night : 
Each knows his rank, and Heaven marshal all. 

[Exeunt, 



SCENE.— English Court. 

Lionel, Duke of Claeence, Queeis* Philippa, 
Lords, Bishop, ^c. 

CLAEENCE. 

J Y Lords, I have by the advice of her 
Whom I am doubly bound to obey, my 
parent 
And my sovereign, called you together. 




6 Blake's poems. 

My task is great, my burden heavier than 

My unfledged years ; 

Yet with your kind assistance, Lords, I hope 

England shall dwell in peace : that, while my father 

Toils in his wars, and turns his eyes on this 

His native shore, and sees commerce fly round 

With his white wings, and sees his golden London 

And her silver Thames, thronged with shining spires 

And corded ships, her merchants buzzing round 

Like summer bees, and all the golden cities 

In his land overflowing with honey, 

Glory may not be dimmed with clouds of care. 

Say, Lords, should not our thoughts be first to 

commerce ? 
My Lord Bishop, you would recommend us agri- 
culture ? 

BISHOP. 

Sweet Prince, the arts of peace are great, 

And no less glorious than those of war. 

Perhaps more glorious in the philosophic mind. 

When I sit at my home, a private man. 

My thoughts are on my gardens and my fields, 

How to employ the hand that lacketh bread. 

If Industry is in my diocese. 

Religion will flourish ; each man's heart 

Is cultivated and will bring forth fruit ; 

This is my private duty and my pleasure. 

But, as I sit in council with my prince. 

My thoughts take-in the general good of the whole. 

And England is the land favoured by Commerce ; 

For Commerce, though the child of Agriculture, 

Fosters his parent, who else must sweat and toil, 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 7 

And gain but scanty fare. Then, my dear Lord, 
Be England's trade our care ; and we, as trades- 
men 
Looking to the gain of this our native land. 

CLAEENCE. 

my good Lord, true wisdom drops like honey 
From your tongue, as from a worshiped oak ! 
Forgive, my Lords, my talkative youth, that speaks 
Not merely what my narrow observation has 
Picked up, but what I have concluded from your 

lessons. 
Now, by the Queen's advice, I ask your leave 
To dine to-morrow with the Mayor of London : 
If I obtain your leave, I have another boon 
To ask, which is the favour of your company. 

1 fear Lord Percy will not give me leave. 

PEECY. 

Dear Sir, a prince should always keep his state, 

And grant his favours with a sparing hand, 

Or they are never rightly valued. 

These are my thoughts : yet it were best to go : 

But keep a proper dignity, for now 

You represent the sacred person of 

Your father ; 'tis with princes as 'tis with the sun; 

If not sometimes overclouded, we grow weary 

Of his officious glory. 

CLAEENCE. 

Then you will give me leave to shine sometimes, 
My Lord? 



8 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

LOED {aside). 
Thou hast a gallant spirit, which I fear 
Will be imposed on by the closer sort. 

CLARENCE. 

Well, I'll endeavour to take 

Lord Percy's advice ; I have been used so nmch 

To dignity that I'm sick on't. 

QITEEN PHILIPPA. 

Fie, fie, Lord Clarence ! you proceed not to business. 

But speak of your own pleasures. 

I hope their lordships will excuse your giddiness. 

CLAEENCE. 

My Lords, the French have fitted out many 
Small ships of war that, like to ravening wolves, 
Infest our English seas, devouring all 
Our burdened vessels, spoiling our naval flocks. 
The merchants do complain, and beg our aid. 

PEECY. 

The merchants are rich enough ; 
Can they not help themselves ? 

BISHOP. 

They can, and may ; but how to gain their will 
Requires our countenance and help. 

PEECY. 

When that they find they must, my Lord, they will; 
Let them but suffer awhile, and you shall see 
They will bestir themselves. 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 9 

BISHOP. 

Lord Percy cannot mean that we should suffer 
This disgrace. If so, we are not sovereigns 
Of the sea, — our right, that Heaven gave 
To England, when at the birth of Nature 
She was seated in the deep ; the Ocean ceased 
His mighty roar, and, fawning, played around 
Her snowy feet, and owned his awful Queen, 
Lord Percy, if the heart is sick, the head 
Must be aggrieved ; if but one member suffer, 
The heart doth fail. You say, my Lord, the 

merchants 
Can, if they will, defend themselves against 
These rovers : this is a noble scheme. 
Worthy the brave Lord Percy, and as worthy 
His generous aid to put it into practice. 

PEECT. 

Lord Bishop, what was rash in me is wise 

In you ; I dare not own the plan. 'Tis not 

Mine. Yet will I, if you please, 

Quickly to the Lord Mayor, and work him onward 

To this most glorious voyage ; on which cast 

I'll set my whole estate. 

But we will bring these Gallic rovers under. 

aUEEN PHILIPPA. 

Thanks, brave Lord Percy ; you have the thanks 
Of England's Queen, and will, ere long, of England. 

\_Exeunt, 




10 blake's poems. 

SCENE.— ^^ Cressy. 

SiE Thomas Daowoeth and Lord Audley 
meeting, 

AUDLEY. 

2 00D-M0RR0W, brave Sir Thomas; the 
bright morn 
Smiles on our army, and the gallant sun 
Springs from the hills like a young hero 
Into the battle, shaking his golden locks 
Exultingly : this is a promising day. 

DAeWORTH. 

Why, my Lord Audley, I don't know. 
Give me your hand, and now I'll tell you what 
I think you do not know. Edward's afraid of 
Philip. 

AUDLEY.' 

Ha, ha ! Sir Thomas ! you but joke ; 
Did you e'er see him fear ? At Blanchetaque, 
When almost singly he drove six thousand 
French from the ford, did he fear then ? 

DAGWORTH. 

Yes, fear — that made him fight so. 

AUDLEY. 

By the same reason I might say 'tis fear 
That makes you fight. 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 11 

DAGWORTH. 

Mayhap you may. Look upon Edward's face, 
No one can say he fears ; but, when he turns 
His back, then I will say it to his face ; 
He is afraid : he makes us all afraid. 
I cannot bear the enemy at my back. 
Now here we are at Cressy ; where to-morrow, 
To-morrow we shall know. I say, Lord Audley, 
That Edward runs away from Philip. 

AUDLEY. 

Perhaps you think the Prince too is afraid ? 

DAGWOETH. 

No ; God forbid ! I'm sure he is not. 

He is a young lion. Oh I have seen him fight 

And give command, and lightning has flashed 

From his eyes across the fleld : I have seen him 

Shake hands with Death, and strike a bargain for 

The enemy ; he has danced in the field 

Of battle, like the youth at morris-play. 

I'm sure he's not afraid, nor Warwick, nor none, 

None of us but me, and I am very much afraid. 

AUDLEY. 

Are you afraid too. Sir Thomas ? 

I believe that as much as I believe 

The King 's afraid : but what are you afraid of ? 

DAGWORTH. 

Of having my back laid open ; we turn 

Our backs to the fire, till we shall burn our skirts* 



12 blake's poems. 

AUDLEY. 

And this, Sir Thomas, you call fear ? Your fear 

Is of a different kind then from the King's ; 

He fears to turn his face, and you to turn your 

back. 
I do not think. Sir Thomas, you know what fear is. 

Enter Sie John Chandos. 

CHANDOS. 

Oood-morrow, Generals ; I give you joy: 
Welcome to the fields of Cressy. Here we stop, 
And wait for Philip. 

DAGWOETH. 

I hope so. 

AUDLEY. 

There, Sir Thomas ; do you call that fear ? 

DAaWOBTH. 

I don't know ; perhaps he takes it by fits. 
Why, noble Chandos, look you here — 
One rotten sheep spoils the whole flock ; 
And if the bell-wether is tainted, I wish 
The Prince may not catch the distemper too. 

CHAI^DOS. 

Distemper, Sir Thomas ! what distemper ? 
I have not heard. 

DAaWOETH. 

Why, Chandos, you are a wise man. 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 13 

I know you understand me ; a distemper 

The King caught here in France of running away. 

AITDLEY. 

Sir Thomas, you say you have caught it too. 

DAaWOETH. 

And so will the whole army ; 'tis very catching, 
For, when the coward runs, the brave man totters- 
Perhaps the air of the country is the cause. 
I feel it coming upon me, so I strive against it ; 
You yet are whole ; but, after a few more 
Retreats, we all shall know how to retreat 
Better than fight. — To be plain, I think retreating 
Too often takes away a soldier's courage. 

CHAiq^DOS. 

Here comes the King himself : tell him your 

thoughts 
Plainly, Sir Thomas. 

DAGWOKTH. 

I've told him before, but his disorder 
Makes him deaf. 

Enter Kiisra Edwaed and Black Prii^ce. 

Good-morrow, Generals; when English courage 

fails, 
Down goes our right to France. 
But we are conquerors everywhere ; nothing 
Can stand our soldiers ; each man is worthy 



14 blake's poems. 

Of a triumph. Such an army of heroes 

Ne'er shouted to the heavens, nor shook the field. 

Edward, my son, thou art 

Most happy, having such command : the man 

Were base who were not fired to deeds 

Above heroic, having such examples. 

Sire, with respect and deference I look 
Upon such noble souls, and wish myself 
Worthy the high command that Heaven and you 
Have given me. When I have seen the field glow, 
And in each countenance the soul of war 
Curbed by the manliest reason, I have been winged 
With certain victory ; and 'tis my boast, 
And shall be still my glory, 1 was inspired 
By these brave troops. 

DAGWORTH. 

Your Grace had better make them 
All Generals. 

KING. 

Sir Thomas Dagworth, you must have your joke, 
And shall, while you can fight as you did at 
The Ford. 

DAGWOETH. 

I have a small petition to your Majesty. 

KIIS'G. 

What can Sir Thomas Dagworth ask 
That Edward can refuse ? 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 15 

DAGWOETH. 

I hope your Majesty cannot refuse so great 

A trifle ; I've gilt your cause with my best blood, 

And would again, were I not forbid 

By him whom I am bound to obey : my hands 

Are tied up, my courage shrunk and withered, 

My sinews slackened, and my voice scarce heard ; 

Therefore I beg I may return to England. 

KING. 

I know not what you could have asked, Sir Thomas, 

That I would not have sooner parted with 

Than such a soldier as you have been, and such a 

friend : 
Nay, I will know the most remote particulars 
Of this your strange petition ; that, if I can, 
I still may keep you here. 

DAGWORTH. 

Here on the fields of Cressy we are settled 
Till Philip springs the timorous covey again. 
The wolf is hunted down by causeless fear ; 
The lion flees, and fear usurps his heart. 
Startled, astonished at the clamorous cock ; 
The eagle, that doth gaze upon the sun. 
Fears the small fire that plays about the fen. 
If, at this moment of their idle fear. 
The dog doth seize the wolf, the forester the lion, 
The negro in the crevice of the rock 
Doth seize the soaring eagle ; undone by flight, 
They tame submit : such the effect flight has 
On noble souls. Now hear its opposite : 



16 blake's poems. 

The timorous stag starts from the thicket wild, 
The fearful crane springs from the splashy fen, 
The shining snake glides o'er the bending grass, 
The stag turns head, and bays the crying hounds ; 
The crane o'ertaken fighteth with the hawk ; 
The snake doth turn, and bite the padding foot. 
And if your Majesty's afraid of Philip, 
You are more like a lion than a crane : 
Therefore I beg I may return to England. 

KiNa. 
Sir Thomas, now I understand your mirth, 
Which often plays with wisdom for its pastime, 
And brings good counsel from the breast of laughter. 
I hope you'll stay and see us fight this battle, 
And reap rich harvest in the fields of Cressy ; 
Then go to England, tell them how we fight, 
And set all hearts on fire to be with us. 
Philip is plumed, and thinks we flee from him, 
Else he would never dare to attack us. Now, 
Now the quarry's set ! and Death doth sport 
In the bright sunshine of this fatal day. 

DAGWOETH. 

Now my heart dances, and I am as light 
As the young bridegroom going to be married. 
Now must I to my soldiers, get them ready. 
Furbish our armours bright, new-plume our helms ; 
And we will sing like the young housewives busied 
In the dairy. My feet are wing'd, but not 
For flight, an please your grace. 

KING. 

If all my soldiers are as pleased as you, 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 17 

'Twill be a gallant thing to fight or die ; 
Then I can never be afraid of Philip. 

DAaWOETH. 

A raw-boned fellow t' other day passed by me ; 

I told him to put off his hungry looks — 

He answered me, " I hunger for another battle." 

I saw a little Welshman with a fiery face ; 

I told him he looked like a candle half 

Burned out ; he answered, he was "pig enough 

'' To light another pattleJ^ Last night, beneath 

The moon I walked abroad, when all had pitched 

Their tents, and all were still ; 

I heard a blooming youth singing a song 

He had composed, and at each pause he waped 

His dropping eyes. The ditty was, '' If he 

Returned victorious, he should wed a maiden 

Fairer than snow, and rich as midsummer." 

Another wept, and wished health to his father. 

I chid them both, but gave them noble hopes. 

These are the minds that glory in the battle, 

And leap and dance to hear the trumpet sound. 

KING. 

Sir Thomas Dagworth, be thou near our person ; 
Thy heart is richer than the vales of France : 
T will not part with such a man as thee. 
If Philip came armed in the ribs of death, 
And shook his mortal dart against my head, 
Thou'dst laugh his fury into nerveless shame ! 
Go now, for thou art suited to the work, 
Throughout the camp ; inflame the timorous. 
Blow up the sluggish into ardour, and 
c 



18 blake's poems. 

Confirm the strong with strength, the weak inspire, 
x\nd wing their brows with hope and expectation : 
Then to our tent return, and meet to council. 

[^Exit Dagwoeth. 

CTLANDOS. 

That man's a hero in his closet, and more 
A hero to the servants of his house 
Than to the gaping world ; he carries windows 
In that enlarged breast of his, that all 
May see what's done within. 

PKINOE. 

He is a genuine Englishman, my Chandos, 
And hath the spirit of Liberty within him. 
Forgive my prejudice. Sir John ; I think 
My^Englishmen the bravest people on 
The face of the earth. 

CHAIS-DOS. 

Courage, my Lord, proceeds from self-dependence. 

Teach man to think he's a free agent. 

Give but a slave his liberty, he'll shake 

Off sloth, and build himself a hut, and hedge 

A spot of ground ; this he'll defend ; 'tis his 

By right of Nature. Thus set in action, 

He will still move onward to plan conveniences, 

Till glory fires his breast to enlarge his castle ; 

While the poor slave drudges all day, in hope 

To rest at night, 

Liberty, how glorious art thou ! 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 19 

I see thee hovering o'er my army, with 

Thy wide-stretched plumes ; I see thee 

Lead them on to battle ; 

I see thee blow thy golden trumpet while 

Thy sons shout the strong shout of victory ! 

noble Chandos, think thyself a gardener, 

My son a vine, which I commit unto 

Thy care. Prune all extravagant shoots, and guide 

The ambitious tendrils in the path of wisdom ; 

Water him with thy advice, and Heaven 

Kain freshening dew upon his branches ! And, 

Edward, my dear son ! learn to think lowly of 

Thyself, as we may all each prefer other — 

'Tis the best policy, and 'tis our duty. 

[Exit Kiira Edwaed. 

PEINCE. 

And may our duty, Chandos, be our pleasure. — 
Now we are alone, Sir John, I will unburden 
And breathe my hopes into the burning air, 
Where thousand Deaths are posting up and down, 
Commissioned to this fatal field of Cressy. 
Methinks I see them arm my gallant soldiers. 
And gird the sword upon each thigh, and fit 
Each shining helm, and string each stubborn bow, 
And dance to the neighing of our steeds. 
Methinks the shout begins, the battle burns ; 
Methinks I see them perch on English crests. 
And roar the wild flame of fierce war upon 
The thronged enemy ! In truth, I am too full ; 
It is my sin to love the noise of war. 
Chandos, thou seest my weakness ; strong Nature 
Will bend or break us : my blood, like a springtide 



20 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Does rise so high to overflow all bounds 

Of moderation ; while Reason, in her frail bark, 

Can see no shore or bound for vast ambition. 

Come, take the helm, my Chandos, 

That my full-blown sails overset me not 

In the wild tempest. Condemn my venturous youth 

That plays with danger, as the innocent child. 

Unthinking, plays upon the viper's den : 

I am a coward in my reason, Chandos. 

CHANDOS. 

You are a man, my prince, and a brave man, 

If I can judge of actions ; but your heat 

Is the effect of youth, and want of use : 

Use makes the armed field and noisy war 

Pass over as a summer cloud, unregarded. 

Or but expected as a thing of course. 

Age is contemplative ; each rolling year 

Brings forth fruit to the mind's treasure-house: — 

While vacant youth doth crave and seek about 

Within itself, and findeth discontent. 

Then, tired of thought, impatient takes the wing, 

Seizes the fruits of time, attacks experience, 

Eoams round vast Nature's forest, where no bounds 

Are set, the swiftest may have room, the strongest 

Find prey; till, tired at length, sated and tired 

With the changing sameness, old variety, 

We sit us down, and view our former joys 

With distaste and dislike. 

PEINCE. 

Then, if we must tug for experience. 

Let us not fear to beat round Nature's wilds, , 

And rouse the strongest prey : then if we fall, 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 21 

We fall with glory. I know the wolf 
Is dangerous to fight, not good for food, 
Nor is the hide a comely vestment ; so 
We have our battle for our pains. I know 
That youth has need of age to point fit prey, 
And oft the stander-by shall steal the fruit 
Of the other's labour. This is philosophy ; 
These are the tricks of the world ; but the pure soul 
Shall mount on native wings, disdaining little sport, 
And cut a path into the heaven of glory, 
Leaving a track of light for men to wonder at. 
I'm glad my father does not hear me talk; 
You can find friendly excuses for me, Chandos. 
But do you not think. Sir John, that, if it please 
The Almighty to stretch out my span of life, 
I shall with pleasure view a glorious action 
Which my youth mastered ? 

CHAIS-DOS. 

Considerate age, my Lord, views motives. 
And not acts ; when neither warbling voice 
Nor trilling pipe is heard, nor pleasure sits 
With trembling age, the voice of Conscience then, 
Sweeter than music in a summer's eve, 
Shall warble round the snowy head, and keep 
Sweet symphony to feathered angels, sitting 
As guardians round your chair ; then shall the pulse 
Beat slow, and taste and touch and sight and sound 

and smell. 
That sing and dance round Reason's fine- wrought 

throne. 
Shall flee away, and leave him all forlorn ; 
Yet not forlorn if Conscience is his friend. 

lExeunt. 




22 blake's poems. 



SCENE. — In SiE Thomas Dagworth's Tent 
Dagwoeth, and William his man, 

DAGWOETH. 

RING hither my armour, William. 
Ambition is the growth of every clime. 

WILLIAM. 

Does it grow in England, sir ? 

DAGWOETH. 

Ay, it grows most in lands most cultivated. 

WILLIAM. 

Then it grows most in France ; the vines here 
Are finer than any we have in England. 

DAGW^OETH. 

Ay, but the oaks are not. 

WILLIAM. 

What is the tree you mentioned ? I don't think 
I ever saw it. 

DAGWOETH. 

Ambition. 

WILLIAM. 

Is it a little creeping root that grows in ditches ? 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 23 

DAGWOETH. 

Thou dost not understand me, William. 
It is a root that grows in every breast ; 
Ambition is the desire or passion that one man 
Has to get before another, in any pursuit after 

glory ; 
But I don't think you have any of it. 

WILLIAM, 

Yes, I have ; I have a great ambition to know 
everything, sir. 

DAaWOETH. 

But, when our first ideas are wrong, what follows 
must all be wrong, of course ; 'tis best to know a 
little, and to know that little aright. 

WILLIAM. 

Then, sir, I should be glad to know if it was 
not ambition that brought over our king to France 
to fight for his right. 

DAGWOKTH. 

Though the knowledge of that will not profit 
thee much, yet I will tell you that it was ambition. 

WILLIAM. 

Then, if ambition is a sin, we are all guilty in 
coming with him, and in fighting for him. 

DAGWOETH. 

Now, William, thou dost thrust the question' 
home ; but I must tell you that, guilt being an 



24 blake's poems. 

act of the mind, none are guilty but those whose 
minds are prompted by that same ambition. 

WILLIAM. 

Now, I always thought that a man might be 
guilty of doing wrong without knowing it was 
wrong. 

DAGWOETH. 

Thou art a natural philosopher, and knowest 
truth by instinct ; while reason runs aground, as 
we have run our argument. Only remember, 
William, all have it in their power to know the 
motives of their own actions, and 'tis a sin to act 
without some reason. 

WILLIAM. 

And whoever acts without reason may do a great 
deal of harm without knowing it. 

DAGWOETH. 

Thou art an endless moralist. 

WILLIAM. 

Now there's a story come into my head, that I 
will tell your honour, if you'll give me leave. 

DAGWOETH. 

No, William, save it till another time ; this is 
no time for story-telling. But here comes one who 
is as entertaining as a good story. 



KING EDWARD THE THIKD. 25 

Enter peter blunt. 

PETEE. 

Yonder's a musician going to play before the 
King; it's a new song about the French and 
English. And the Prince has made the minstrel a 
squire, and given him I don't know what, and I 
can't tell whether he don't mention us all one by 
one ; and he is to write another about all us that 
are to die, that we may be remembered in Old 
England, for all our blood and bones are in France ; 
and a great deal more that we shall all hear by 
and by. And I came to tell your honour, because 
you love to hear war-songs. 

DAGWORTH. 

And who is this minstrel, Peter, dost know ? 

PETEE. 

Oh ay, I forgot to tell that; he has got the same 
name as Sir John Chandos that the Prince is always 
with — the wise man that knows us all as well as 
your honour, only ain't so good-natured. 

DAOWOETH. 

I thank you, Peter, for your information, but not 
for your compliment, which is not true. There's 
as much difference between him and me as between 
glittering sand and fruitful mould ; or shining glass 
and a wrought diamond, set in rich gold, and fitted 
to the finger of an Emperor ; such is that worthy 
Chandos. 



26 blake's poems. 

PETEE. 

I know your honour does not think anything of 
yourself, but everybody else does. 

nAGrWOBTH. 

Go, Peter, get you gone ; flattery is delicious, 
even from the lips of a babbler. [Exit Petee. 

'WILLIAM. 

/ never flatter your honour. 

DAGWORTH. 

I don't know that. 

WILLI A :m. 

Why you know, sir, w^hen w^e w^ere in England, 
at the tournament at Windsor, and the Earl of 
Warwick w^as tumbled over, you asked me if he did 
not look well w^hen he fell; and I said no, he 
looked very foolish ; and you w^ere very angry with 
me for not flattering you. 

DAGWOETH. 

You mean that I was angry with you for not 
flattering the Earl of Warwick. [Exeunt. 




KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 2 

SCENE.— /Sr Thomas Dagworth's Tent. 

Sir Thomas Dagworth. To him enters Sir 
Walter Manny. 



SIR WALTER. 

IR THOMAS DAGWORTH, I have been 
weeping 
Over the men that are to die to-day. 



DAOWORTH. 

Why, brave Sir Walter, you or I may fall. 

SIR WALTER. 

I know this breathing flesh must lie and rot, 

Covered with silence and forgetfulness. 

Death roams in cities' smoke, and in still night. 

When men sleep in their beds, walketh about. 

How many in walled cities lie and groan, 

Turning themselves upon their beds. 

Talking with Death, answering his hard demands I 

How many walk in darkness, terrors are round 

The curtains of their beds, destruction is 

Ready at the door ! How many sleep 

In earth, covered with stones and deathy dust. 

Resting in quietness, whose spirits walk 

Upon the clouds of heaven, to die no more ! 

Yet death is terrible, though borne on angels' 

wings. 
How terrible then is the field of death, • 
Where he doth rend the vault of heaven, 



28 blake's poems. 

And shake the gates of hell ! 

Dagworth, France is sick ! the very sky, 
Though sunshine light it, seems to me as pale 
As the pale fainting man on his death-bed, 
Whose face is shown by light of sickly taper. 
It makes me sad and sick at very heart ; 
Thousands must fall to-day. 

DAGWOETH. 

Thousands of souls must leave this prison-house, 

To be exalted to those heavenly fields 

Where songs of triumph, palms of victory, 

Where peace and joy and love and calm content, 

Sit singing in the azure clouds, and strew 

Flowers of heaven's growth over the banquet- table. 

Bind ardent hope upon your feet like shoes, 

Put on the robe of preparation ! 

The table is prepared in shining heaven, 

The flowers of immortality are blown ; 

Let those that fight fight in good stedfastness. 

And those that fall shall rise in victory. 

SIE WALTEE. 

I've often seen the burning field of war. 
And often heard the dismal clang of arms ; 
But never, till this fatal day of Cressy, 
Has my soul fainted with these views of death. 

1 seem to be in one great charnel-house, 
And seem to scent the rotten carcases ; 

I seem to hear the dismal yells of Death, 
While the black gore drops from his horrid jaws: 
Yet I not fear the monster in his pride — 
But oh ! the souls that are to die to-day I 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 29 

DAaWOKTH. 

Stop, brave Sir Walter ; let me drop a tear, 

Then let the clarion of war begin ; 

I'll fight and weep, 'tis in my country's cause ; 

I'll weep and shout for glorious liberty. 

Grim War shall laugh and shout, decked in tears, 

And blood shall flow like streams across the 

meadows. 
That murmur down their pebbly channels, and 
Spend their sweet lives to do their country service : 
Then shall England's verdure shoot, her fields shall 

smile, 
Her ships shall sing across the foaming sea, 
Her mariners shall use the flute and viol. 
And rattling guns, and black and dreary war, 
Shall be no more. 

SIR WALTER. 

Well, let the trumpet sound, and the drum beat ; 
Let war stain the blue heavens with bloody banners ; 
I'll draw my sword, nor ever sheathe it up 
Till England blow the trump of victory, 
Or I lie stretched upon the field of death. \_Exeunt, 

SCENE.— /^ the Camp, 

Several of the Warriors met at the King^s Tent with 
a Minstrel, who sings the following Song : 

SONS of Trojan Brutus, clothed in war. 
Whose voices are the thunder of the field, 
Rolling dark clouds o'er France, mufiiing 
the sun 
In sickly darkness like a dim eclipse. 




30 blake's poems. 

Threatening as the red brow of storms, as fire 
Burning up nations in your wrath and fury ! 

Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy 
(Like lions roused by lightning from their dens, 
Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires), 
Heated with war, filled with the blood of Greeks, 
With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore, 
In navies black, broken with wind and tide : 

They landed in firm array upon the rocks 

Of Albion ; they kissed the rocky shore ; 

" Be thou our mother and our nurse," they said ; 

'' Our children's mother, and thou shalt be our 

grave, 
The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence 
Shall rise cities, and thrones, and arms, and awful 

powers." 

Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices 
Are heard from the hills, the enormous sons 
Of Ocean run from rocks and caves ; wild men, 
Naked and roaring like lions, hurling rocks, 
And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled 
Thick as a forest, ready for the axe. 

Our fathers move in firm array to battle ; 
The savage monsters rush like roaring fire ; 
Like as a forest roars with crackling flames. 
When the red lightning, borne by furious storms. 
Lights on some woody shore ; the parched heavens 
Rain fire into the molten raging sea. 



KING EDWARD THE THIRD. 31 

The smoking trees are strewn upon the shore, 
Spoiled of their verdure. Oh how oft have they 
Defied the storm that howled o'er their heads ! 
Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears, and 

view 
The mighty dead : giant bodies streaming blood, 
Dread visages frowning in silent death. 

Then Brutus spoke, inspired ; our fathers sit 

Attentive on the melancholy shore : 

Hear ye the voice of Brutus — ^' The flowing waves 

Of time come rolling o'er my breast," he said ; 

'^ And my heart labours with futurity. 

Our sons shall rule the empire of the sea. 

'' Their mighty wings shall stretch from east to 

west. 
Their nest is in the sea, but they shall roam 
Like eagles for the prey ; nor shall the young 
Crave or be heard ; for plenty shall bring forth. 
Cities shall sing, and vales in rich array 
Shall laugh, whose fruitful laps bend down with 

fulness. 



" Our sons shall rise from thrones in joy, 
Each one buckling on his armour ; Morning 
Shall be prevented by their swords gleaming. 
And Evening hear their song of victory : 
Their towers shall be built upon the rocks. 
Their daughters shall sing, surrounded with shining 
spears. 



32 blake's poems. 

'^ Liberty shall stand upon the cliffs of Albion, 
Casting her blue eyes over the green ocean ; 
Or towering stand upon the roaring waves, 
Stretching her mighty spear o'er distant lands ; 
While with her eagle wings she covereth 
Fair Albion's shore, and all her families." 



PROLOGUE 

INTENDED EOR A DRAMATIC PIECE OF KING 
EDWABD THE EOUKTH. 

^ H for a voice like thunder, and a tongue 
To drown the throat of war ! When 

the senses 
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to 
madness, 
Who can stand ? When the souls of the oppressed 
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand ? 
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the throne 
Of God, when the frowns of His countenance 
Drive the nations together, who can stand ? 
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle, 
And sails rejoicing in the flood of death ; 
When souls are torn to everlasting fire. 
And fiends of hell rejoice upon the slain, 
Oh who can stand ? Oh who hath caused this ? 
Oh who can answer at the throne of God ? 
The Kings and Nobles of the land have done it ! 
Hear it not, Heaven, thy ministers have done it ! 




PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN. 33 




PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN.i 

f USTICE hath heaved a sword to plunge 
in Albion's breast ; 
For Albion's sins are crimson-dyed, 
And the red scourge follows her desolate 
sons. 
Then Patriot rose ; full oft did Patriot rise, 
When Tyranny hath stained fair Albion's breast 
With her own children's gore. 
Round his majestic feet deep thunders roll; 
Each heart does tremble, and each knee grows slack. 
The stars of heaven tremble ; the roaring voice of 

war. 
The trumpet, calls to battle. Brother in brother's 

blood 
Must bathe, rivers of death. land most hapless ! 
beauteous island, how forsaken ! 
Weep from thy silver fountains, weep from thy 
gentle rivers ! 



' In Blake's volume this prologue is printed as prose. 
There seems, however, to be no reason[; for such a course, as 
it is in fact loose blank verse — not at all more loose than in 
other instances. I therefore print this as verse, and in like 
manner the fragment named Samson. Two other pieces, 
named The Couch of Death and Contemplation, might, with- 
out much difficulty, be treated in the same way ; but on the 
whole they may rather be regarded as rhapsodic prose, and 
are therefore omitted here. 



34 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

The angel of the island weeps ; 

Thy widowed virgins weep beneath thy shades. 

Thy aged fathers gird themselves for war ; 

The sucking infant lives, to die in battle ; 

The weeping mother feeds him for the slaughter. 

The husbandman doth leave his bending harvest. 

Blood cries afar ! The land doth sow itself ! 

The glittering youth of courts must gleam in arms ; 

The aged senators their ancient swords assume ; 

The trembling sinews of old age must work 

The work of death against their progeny. 

For Tyranny hath stretched his purple arm, 

And " Blood ! " he cries ; " The chariots and the 

horses, 
The noise of shout, and dreadful thunder of the 

battle heard afar ! " 
Beware, proud ! thou shalt be humbled ; 
Thy cruel brow, thine iron heart is smitten, 
Though lingering Fate is slow. Oh yet may Albion 
Smile again, and stretch her peaceful arms, 
And raise her golden head exultingly ! 
Her citizens shall throng about her gates, 
Her mariners shall sing upon the sea. 
And myriads shall to her temples crowd ! 
Her sons shall joy as in the morning — 
Her daughters sing as to the rising year ! 





TO SPRING. 35 



TO SPRING. 

THOU with dewy locks^ who lookest 

down 
Through the clear windows of the 
morning, turn 
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, 
Which in full choir hails thy approach, Spring ! 

The hills tell each other, and the listening 
Valleys hear ; all our longing eyes are turned 
Up to thy bright pavilions : issue forth. 
And let thy holy feet visit our clime ! 

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds 
Kiss thy perfumed garments ; let us taste 
Thy morn and evening breath ; scatter thy pearls 
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee. 

Oh deck her forth with thy fair fingers ; pour 
Thy soft kisses on her bosom ; and put 
Thy golden crown upon her languished head. 
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee ! 




36 blake's poems. 



TO SUMMER. 

THOU who passest through our valleys 

in 
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, 
allay the heat 
That flames from their large nostrils ! Thou, 

Summer, 
Oft pitchedst here thy golden tent, and oft 
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld 
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair. 

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard 
Thy voice, when Noon upon his fervid car 
Rode o'er the deep of heaven. Beside our springs 
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on 
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy 
Silk draperies off*, and rush into the stream ! 
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride. 

Our bards are famed who strike the silver wire : 
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains, 
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance. 
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy. 
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven, 
,Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat. 



TO AUTUMN. 37 




TO AUTUMN. 

AUTUMN, laden with fruit, and stained 
With the blood of the grape^ pass not, 

but sit 
Beneath my shady roof ; there thou 
mayst rest, 
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, 
And all the daughters of the year shall dance ! 
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers. 

" The narrow bud opens her beauties to 
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins; 
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and 
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve, 
Till clustering Summer breaks forth into singing, 
And feathered clouds strew flowers round her head. 

" The Spirits of the Air live on the smells 

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round 

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees." 

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat ; 

Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak 

Hills fled from our sight ; but left his golden load. 



38 



blake's poems. 




TO WINTER. 

WINTER ! bar thine adamantine doors: 
The north is thine ; there hast thou 

built thy dark 
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not 

thy roofs, 
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car. 

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep 
Rides heavy ; his storms are unchained, sheathed 
In ribbed steel ; I dare not lift mine eyes ; 
For he hath reared his sceptre o'er the world. 

Lo ! now the direful monster, whose skin clings 
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks : 
He withers all in silence, and in his hand 
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life. 

He takes his seat upon the cliffs, — the mariner 
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st 
With storms ! — till heaven smiles, and the monster 
Is driven yelling to his cavQS beneath Mount Hecla. 




TO THE EVENING STAR. 

HOU fair-haired Angel of the Evening, 
Now, whilst the sun rests on the 

mountains, light 
Thy bright torch of love — thy radiant 
crown 



TO THE EVENING STAR. 39 

Put on, and smile upon our evening bed ! 

Smile on our loves ; and, while thou drawest the 

Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew 

On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes 

In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on 

The lake ; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes, 

And wash the dusk with silver. — Soon, full soon. 

Dost thou withdraw ; then the wolf rages wide. 

And the lion glares through the dun forest. 

The fleeces of our flocks are covered with 

Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence ! 



TO MORNING. 

HOLY virgin, clad in purest white, 
Unlock heaven's golden gates, and issue 

forth ; 
Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven ; 
let light 
Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring 
The honeyed dew that cometh on waking day. 
radiant Morning, salute the Sun, 
Roused like a huntsman to the chase, and with 
Thy buskined feet appear upon our hills. 




40 blake's poems. 




FAIR ELEANOR. 

'HE bell struck one, and shook the silent 
tower ; 
The graves give up their dead : fair 
Eleanor 

Walked by the castle-gate, and looked in : 
A hollow groan ran through the dreary vaults. 

She shrieked aloud, and sunk upon the steps, 
On the cold stone her pale cheek. Sickly smells 
Of death issue as from a sepulchre, 
And all is silent but the sighing vaults. 

Chill Death withdraws his hand, and she revives ; 
Amazed she finds herself upon her feet. 
And, like a ghost, through narrow passages 
Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands. 

Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones 
And grinning skulls, and corruptible death 
Wrapt in his shroud ; and now fancies she hears 
Deep sighs, and sees pale sickly ghosts gliding. 

At length, no fancy but reality 
Distracts her. A rushing sound, and the feet 
Of one that fled, approaches. — Ellen stood. 
Like a dumb statue, froze to stone with fear. 



FAIR ELEANOR. 41 

The wretch approaches, crying : " The deed is done ! 
Take this, and send it by whom thou wilt send ; 
It is my life — send it to Eleanor : — 
He's dead, and howling after me for blood ! 

*' Take this," he cried ; and thrust into her arms 
A wet napkin, wrapt about ; then rushed 
Past, howling. She received into her arms 
Pale death, and followed on the wings of fear. 

They passed swift through the outer gate; the 

wretch, 
Howling, leaped o'er the wall into the moat. 
Stilling in mud. Fair Ellen passed the bridge, 
And heard a gloomy voice cry " Is it done ? " 

As the deer wounded, Ellen flew over 

The pathless plain ; as the arrows that fly 

By night, destruction flies, and strikes in darkness. 

She fled from fear, till at her house arrived. 

Her maids await her ; on her bed she falls. 
That bed of joy where erst her lord hath pressed. 
'' Ah woman's fear ! " she cried, " Ah cursed duke ! 
Ah my dear lord ! ah wretched Eleanor ! 

'' My lord was like a flower upon the brows 
Of lusty May ! Ah life as frail as flower ! 
ghastly Death ! withdraw thy cruel hand ! 
Seek'st thou that flower to deck thy horrid temples? 

*' My lord was like a star in highest heaven 
Drawn down to earth by spells and wickedness ; 



42 blake's poems. 

My lord was like the opening eyes of Day, 
When western winds creep softly o'er the flowers. 

" But he is darkened ; like the summer's noon 
Clouded ; fall'n like the stately tree, cut down ; 
The breath of heayen dwelt among his leaves. 
Eleanor, weak woman, filled with woe !" 

Thus having spoke, she raised up her head, 
And saw the bloody napkin by her side, 
Which in her arms she brought; and now, tenfold 
More terrified, saw it unfold itself. 

Her eyes were fixed ; the bloody cloth unfolds. 
Disclosing to her sight the murdered head 
Of her dear lord, all ghastly pale, clotted 
With gory blood ; it groaned, and thus it spake : 

" Eleanor, behold thy husband's head, 
Who, sleeping on the stones of yonder tower. 
Was reft of life ,by the accursed duke : 
A hired villain turned my sleep to death. 

" Eleanor, beware the cursed duke ; 
Oh give not him thy hand, now I am dead. 
He seeks thy love ; who, coward, in the night, 
Hired a villain to bereave my life." 

She sat with dead cold limbs, stiffened to stone ; 
She took the gory head up in her arms ; 
She kissed the pale lips ; she had no tears to shed ; 
She hugged it to her breast, and groaned her last. 



SONG. 43 



SONG.i 




OW sweet I roamed from field to field, 
And tasted all the summer's pride, 
Till I the Prince of Love beheld 
Who in the sunny beams did glide. 

He showed me lilies for my hair, 
And blushing roses for my brow ; 

He led me through his gardens fair 
Where all his golden pleasures grow. 

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet, 
And Phoebus fired my vocal rage ; 

He caught me in his silken net, 
And shut me in his golden cage. 

He loves to sit and hear me sing, 

Then, laughing, sports and plays with me ; 
Then stretches out my golden wing. 

And mocks my loss of liberty. 



* This lovely lyric is affirmed to have been written by 
Blake before he was fourteen years of age. 



Viv^'OSr^ 



44 blake's poems. 



SONG. 




|Y silks and fine array, 

My smiles and languished air, 
By love are driven away ; 
And mournful lean Despair 
Brings me yew to deck my grave : 
Such end true lovers have. 

His face is fair as heaven 

When springing buds unfold ; 

Oh why to him was't given, 
Whose heart is wintry cold ? 

His breast is love's all-worshiped tomb, 

Where all love's pilgrims come. 

Bring me an axe and spade, 

Bring me a winding-sheet ; 
When I my grave have made. 

Let winds and tempests beat : 
Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay. 
True love doth pass away ! 



SONG. 

OYE and harmony combine. 
And around our souls entwine. 
While thy branches mix with mine, 
And our roots together join. 




SONG. 45 

Joys upon our branches sit, 
Chirping loud and singing sweet ; 
Like gentle streams beneath our feet, 
Innocence and virtue meet. 

Thou the golden fruit dost bear, 
I am clad in flowers fair ; 
Thy sweet boughs perfume the air, 
And the turtle buildeth there. 

There she sits and feeds her young. 
Sweet I hear her mournful song ; 
And thy lovely leaves among 
There is Love ; I hear his tongue. 

There his charming nest doth lay, 
There he sleeps the night away ; 
There he sports along the day, 
And doth among our branches play. 



SONG. 

LOVE the jocund dance, 

The softly-breathing song, 
Where innocent eyes do glance, 

And where lisps the maiden's tongue. 



I love the laughing vale, 

I love the echoing hill. 
Where mirth does never fail. 

And the jolly swain laughs his fill. 




46 blake's poems. 

I love the pleasant cot, 

I love the innocent bower, 

Where white and brown is our lot, 
Or fruit in the mid-day hour. 

I love the oaken seat 
Beneath the oaken tree. 

Where all the old villagers meet, 
And laugh our sports to see. 

I love our neighbours all, — 
But, Kitty, I better love thee ; 

And love them I ever shall, 
But thou art all to me. 



SONG. 

|EMORY, hither come. 

And tune your merry notes : 
And, while upon the wind 
Your music floats, 
I'll pore upon the stream 
Where sighing lovers dream. 
And fish for fancies as they pass 
Within the watery glass. 

Ill drink of the clear stream, 

And hear the linnet's song, 
And there I'll lie and dream 

The day along ; 





SONG. 47 

And, when night comes, I'll go 
To places fit for woe, 
Walking along the darkened valley 
With silent Melancholy. 



MAD SONG. 

["HE wild winds weep, 

And the night is a-cold ; 
Come hither. Sleep, 

And my griefs enfold ! . . , 
But lo ! the morning peeps 
Over the eastern steeps. 
And the rustling beds^ of dawn 
The earth do scorn. 

Lo ! to the vault 

Of paved heaven. 
With sorrow fraught, 

My notes are driven : 
They strike the ear of Night, 

Make weep the eyes of Day ; 
They make mad the roaring winds, 

And with tempests play. 

Like a fiend in a cloud, 

With howling woe 
After night I do crowd 

And with night will go ; 

' Should this be " birds ?" So printed in the selection 
made in Gilchrist's Life of Blake. 




48 blake's poems. 

I turn my back to the east 

From whence comforts have increased ; 

For light doth seize mj brain 

With frantic pain. 



SONG.i 

^RESH from the dewy hill, the merry 
Year 
Smiles on my head, and mounts his 
flaming car ; 

Round my young brows the laurel wreathes a shade, 
And rising glories beam around my head. 

My feet are winged, while o'er the dewy lawn 

I meet my maiden risen like the morn. 

Oh bless those holy feet, like angels' feet ; 

Oh bless those limbs, beaming with heavenly light ! 

Like as an angel glittering in the sky 
In times of innocence and holy joy ; 
The joyful shepherd stops his grateful song 
To hear the music of an angel's tongue. 

So, when she speaks, the voice of Heaven I hear ; 
So, when we walk, nothing impure comes near ; 
Each field seems Eden, and each calm retreat ; 
Each village seems the haunt of holy feet. 



' The love-songs in this series were written before Blake 
had any acquaintanceship with Catharine Boucher, who be- 
came his wife. 




SONG. 49 

But, that sweet village where my black-eyed maid 
Closes her eyes in sleep beneath night's shade 
Whene'er I enter, more than mortal fire 
Burns in my soul, and does my song inspire. 



SONG. 

; HEN early Morn walks forth in sober 
grey, 
Then to my black-eyed maid I haste 
away. 

When Evening sits beneath her dusky bower, 
And gently sighs away the silent hour. 
The village bell alarms, away I go. 
And the vale darkens at my pensive woe. 

To that sweet village where my black-eyed maid 

Doth drop a tear beneath the silent shade 

I turn my eyes ; and pensive as I go 

Curse my black stars, and bless my pleasing woe. 

Oft, when the Summer sleeps among the trees. 
Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze, 
I walk the village round ; if at her side 
A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride, 
I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe, 
That made my love so high, and me so low. 

Oh should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear. 
And throw all pity on the burning air ! 
I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot. 
And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot. 




50 Blake's poems. 



TO THE MUSES. 

HETHER on Ida's shady brow, 
Or in the chambers of the East, 
The chambers of the Sun, that now 
From ancient melody have ceased ; 

Whether in heaven ye wander fair, 
Or the green corners of the earth, 

Or the blue regions of the air 

Where the melodious winds have birth ; 

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, 

Beneath the bosom of the sea, 
Wandering in many a coral grove ; 

Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry ; 

How have you left the ancient love 
That bards of old enjoyed in you ! 

The languid strings do scarcely move, 
The sound is forced, the notes are few ! 



GWIN, KING OF NORWAY. 



OME, Kings, and listen to my song.- 
When Gwin, the son of Nore, 
Over the nations of the North 
His cruel sceptre bore ; 




GWIN> KING OF NORWAY. 51 

The Nobles of the land did feed 

Upon the hungry poor ; 
They tear the poor man's lamb, and drive 

The needy from their door. 

'* The land is desolate ; our wives 

And children cry for bread ; 
Arise, and pull the tyrant down ! 

Let Gvi^in be humbled ! " 

Gordred the giant roused himself 

From sleeping in his cave ; 
He shook the hills, and in the clouds 

The troubled banners wave. 

Beneath them rolled, like tempests black. 

The numerous sons of blood ; 
Like lions' whelps, roaring abroad, 

Seeking their nightly food. 

Down Bleron's hills they dreadful rush, 

Their cry ascends the clouds ; 
The trampling horse and clanging arms 

Like rushing mighty floods ! 

Their wives and children, weeping loud. 

Follow in wild array, 
Howling like ghosts, furious as wolves 

In the bleak wintry day. 

** Pull down the tyrant to the dust. 

Let Gwin be humbled," 
They cry, '' and let ten thousand lives 

Pay for the tyrant's head ! " 



62 blake's poems. 

From tower to tower the watchmen cry : 

'' O Gwin, the son of JSTore, 
Arouse thyself ! the nations, black 

Like clouds, come rolling o'er ! " 

Gwin reared his shield, his palace shakes, 
His chiefs come rushing round ; 

Each like an awful thunder-cloud 
With voice of solemn sound ; 

Like reared stones around a grave 
They stand around the King ; 

Then suddenly each seized his spear, 
And clashing steel does ring. 

The husbandman does leave his plough 
To wade through fields of gore ; 

The merchant binds his brows in steel, 
And leaves the trading shore ; 

The shepherd leaves his mellow pipe. 
And sounds the trumpet shrill ; 

The workman throws his hammer down 
To heave the bloody bill. 

Like the tall ghost of Barraton 

Who sports in stormy sky, 
Gwin leads his host as black as night 

When pestilence does fly. 

With horses and with chariots — 

And all his spearmen bold 
March to the sound of mournful song, 

Like clouds around him rolled. 



GWIN, KING OF NORWAY. 53 

Gwin lifts his hand — the nations halt ; 

'' Prepare for war ! " he cries. 
Gordred appears !- — his frowning brow 

Troubles our northern skies. 

The armies stand, like balances 
Held in the Almighty's hand ; — 

'' Gwin, thou hast filled thy measure up : 
Thou'rt swept from out the land." 

And now the raging armies rushed 

Like warring mighty seas ; 
The heavens are shook with roaring war, 

The dust ascends the skies ! 

Earth smokes with blood, and groans and shakes 

To drink her children's gore, 
A sea of blood ; nor can the eye 

See to the trembling shore. 

And on the verge of this wild sea 

Famine and death do cry ; 
The cries of women and of babes 

Over the field do fly. 

The king is seen raging afar, 

With all his men of might ; 
Like blazing comets scattering death 

Through the red feverous night. 

Beneath his arm like sheep they die, 

And groan upon the plain ; 
The battle faints, and bloody men 

Fight upon hills of slain. 



54 blare's poems. 

Now death is sick, and riven men 

Labour and toil for life ; 
Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield, 

Sunk in this sea of strife ! 

The God of War is drunk with blood, 
The earth doth faint and fail ; 

The stench of blood makes sick the heavens, 
Ghosts glut the throat of hell ! 

Oh what have Kings to answer for 

Before that awful throne, 
When thousand deaths for vengeance cry, 

And ghosts accusing groan ! 

Like blazing comets in the sky 

That shake the stars of light. 
Which drop like fruit unto the earth 

Through the fierce burning night ; 

Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet. 

And the first blow decides ; 
Down from the brow unto the breast 

Gordred his head divides ! 

Gwin fell : the Sons of Norway fled, 

All that remained alive ; 
The rest did fill the vale of death, — 

For them the eagles strive. 

The river Dorm an rolled their blood 

Into the northern sea ; 
Who mourned his sons, and overwhelmed 

The pleasant south country. 




AN IMITATION OF SPENSER. 65 



AN IMITATION OF SPENSER.^ 

[OLDEN Apollo, that through heaven 
wide 
Scatter'st the rays of light;, and 
truth his beams, 
In lucent words my darkling verses dight, 
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear 

streams, 
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams, 
All while the jocund Hours in thy train 

Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet ; 
And, when thou yield'st to Night thy wide 

domain, 
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain. 

For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay 
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous 
verse, 
Sound without sense ; yet in his rude affray 
(For Ignorance is Folly's leasing nurse, 
And love of Folly needs none other's curse) 
Midas the praise hath gained of lengthened ears, 
For which himself might deem him ne'er the 
worse 
To sit in council with his modern peers. 
And judge of tinkling rhymes and elegances terse. 

And thou, Mercurius, that with winged bow 
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky, 

* It need scarcely be pointed out to the reader that these 
verses have no imitative value: even the metre is missed. 



56 blake's poems. 

And through heaven's halls thy airy flight dost 
throw, 
Entering with holy feet to where on high 
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity ; 
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go 

Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky, 
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly : 

If thou arrivest at the sandy shore 

Where nought but envious hissing adders 
dwell, 

Thy golden rod, thrown on the dusty floor. 
Can charm J^o harmony with potent spell ; 
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel 

Envy and Hate, that thirst for human gore; 
And cause in sweet society to dwell 
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell. 

Mercury, assist my labouring sense 

That round the circle of the world would fly, 

As the wing'd eagle scorns the towery fence 
Of Alpine hills round his high aery. 
And searches through the corners of the sky. 

Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound, 
And see the winged lightnings as they fly ; 

Then, bosomed in an amber cloud, around 
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace 
high. 

And thou, Warrior maid invincible, 

Armed with the terrors of Almighty Jove, 

Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible, 

Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove, 
In solemn gloom of branches interwove ? 




AN IMITATION OF SPENSER. 57 

Or bear'st thy aegis o'er the burning field 

Where like the sea the waves of battle move ? 
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld 

The weary wanderer through the desert rove ? 
Or does the afflicted man thy heavenly bosom 
move ? 



BLIND-MAN'S BUFF. 

^HEN silver snow decks Susan's clothes, 
And jewel hangs at th' shepherd's nose, 
The blushing bank is all my care, 
With hearth so red, and walls so fair. 
" Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher ; 
The oaken log lay on the fire." 
The well-washed stools, a circling row, 
With lad and lass, how fair the show ! 
The merry can of nut-brown ale, 
The laughing jest, the love-sick tale, — 
Till, tired of chat, the game begins. 
The lasses prick the lads with pins, 
Roger from Dolly twitched the stool ; 
She, falling, kissed the ground, poor fool ! 
She blushed so red, with sidelong glance 
At hobnail Dick, who grieved the chance. 
But now for Blind-man's Buff they call ; 
Of each incumbrance clear the hall. 

Jenny her silken kerchief folds. 

And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds. 

Now laughing stops, with ^' Silence, hush !" 

And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push. 

The Blind-man's arms, extended wide, 



58 Blake's poems. 

Sam slips between : — " Oh woe betide 

Thee, clumsy Will !"— But tittering Kate 

Is penned up in the corner strait ! 

And now Will's eyes beheld the play ; 

He thought his face was t'other way. 

" Now, Kitty, now ! what chance hast thou ? 

Roger so near thee trips, I vow !" 

She catches him — then Roger ties 

His own head up — but not his eyes ; 

For through the slender cloth he sees, 

And runs at Sam, who slips with ease 

His clumsy hold ; and, dodging round, 

Sukey is tumbled on the ground. — 

" See what it is to play unfair ! 

Where cheating is, there's mischief there." 

But Roger still pursues the chase, — 

'^ He sees ! he sees ! " cries softly Grace ; 

" O Roger, thou, unskilled in art, 

Must, surer bound, go through thy part I" 

Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rhymes. 

And Roger turns him round three times. 

Then pauses ere he starts. But Dick 

Was mischief-bent upon a trick ; 

Down on his hands and knees he lay 

Directly in the Blind-man's way, 

Then cries out " Hem ! " — Hodge ^ heard, and ran 

With hood- winked chance — sure of his man ; 

But down he came. — Alas, how frail 

Our best of hopes, how soon they fail ! 

^ The name of "Hodge" is here introduced for the first 
time, and somewhat to the reader's embarrassment. As he 
"ran with hood-winked chance," he must clearly have been 
the " Blind Man," and therefore the same person as " Roger." 



blind-man's buff. 59 

With crimson drops he stains the ground ; 

Confusion startles all around. 

Poor piteous Dick supports his head, 

And fain would cure the hurt he made. 

But Kitty hasted with a key, 

And down his back they straight convey 

The cold relief: the blood is stayed, 

And Hodge again holds up his head. 

Such are the fortunes of the game ; 
And those who play should stop the same 
By wholesome laws, such as — All those 
Who on the blinded man impose 
Stand in his stead ; as, long agone 
When men were first a nation grown. 
Lawless they lived, till wantonness 
And liberty began to increase. 
And one man lay in another's way ; 
Then laws were made to keep fair play. 



A WAR SONG: 

TO ENGLISHMEN. 

^ REPARE, prepare the iron helm of war, 
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious 

orb ; 
The Angel of Fate turns them with 
mighty hands, 
And casts them out upon the darkened earth ! 
Prepare, prepare ! 




60 Blake's poems. 

Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand ! prepare 
Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth ! 
Prepare your arms for glorious victory ! 
Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God ! 

Prepare, prepare ! 

Whose fatal scroll is that ? Methinks 'tis mine ! 
Why sinks my heart, why faltereth my tongue ? 
Had I three lives, I'd die in such a cause. 
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field. 
Prepare, prepare ! 

The arrows of Almighty God are drawn ! 
Angels of Death stand in the louring heavens ! 
Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light. 
And walk together on the clouds of heaven ! 
Prepare, prepare ! 

Soldiers, prepare ! Our cause is Heaven's cause ; 
Soldiers, prepare ! Be worthy of our cause : 
Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky : 
Prepare, troops that are to fall to-day ! 
Prepare, prepare ! 

Alfred shall smile, and make his heart rejoice ; 
The Norman William, and the learned Clerk, 
And Lion-Heart, and black-browed Edward with 
His loyal queen, shall rise, and welcome us ! 
Prepare, prepare ! 




SAMSON. 61 



SAMSON. 

iAMSON, the strongest of the children 

of men, 
I sing ; how he was foiled by woman's 

arts, 

By a false wife brought to the gates of death. 
Truth, that shinest with propitious beams, 
Turning our earthly night to heavenly day, 
From presence of the Almighty Father thou 
Visitest our darkling world with blessed feet, 
Bringing good news of Sin and Death destroyed ! 
white-robed Angel, guide my timorous hand 
To write as on a lofty rock with iron pen 
The words of truth, that all who pass may read. 

Now Night, noon-tide of damned spirits, 
Over the silent earth spreads her pavilion, 
While in dark council sat Philistia's lords ; 
And, where strength failed, black thoughts in 

ambush lay. 
There helmed youth and aged warriors 
In dust together lie, and Desolation 
Spreads his wings over the land of Palestine : 
From side to side the land groans, her prowess lost, 
And seeks to hide her bruised head 
Under the mists of night, breeding dark plots. 
For Dalila's fair arts have long been tried in vain ; 
In vain she wept in many a treacherous tear. 
Go on, fair traitress ; do thy guileful work ! 
Ere once again the changing moon 



62 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Her circuit hath performed, thou shalt overcome, 
And conquer him by force unconquerable, 
And wrest his secret from him. 
Call thine alluring arts and honest-seeming brow, 
The holy kiss of love and the transparent tear ; 
Put on fair linen that with the lily vies, 
Purple and silver ; neglect thy hair, to seem 
More lovely in thy loose attire ; put on 
Thy country's pride, deceit, and eyes of love 
Decked in mild sorrow ; and sell thy lord for gold. 

For now, upon her sumptuous couch reclined 

In gorgeous pride, she still entreats, and still 

She grasps his vigorous knees with her fair arms. 

" Thou lov'st me not ! thou'rt war, thou art not love ! 

foolish Dalila ! weak woman ! 

It is Death clothed in flesh thou lovest, 

And thou hast been encircled in his arms ! 

Alas, my lord, what am I calling thee ? 

Thou art my God ! To thee I pour my tears 

For sacrifice morning and evening : 

My days are covered with sorrow; shut up, 

darkened : 
By night I am deceived ! 
Who says that thou wast born of mortal kind ? 
Destruction was thy father, a lioness 
Suckled thee, thy young hands tore human limbs, 
And gorged human flesh ! 

Come hither. Death; art thou not Samson's servant? 
'Tis Dalila that calls, — thy master's wife. 
No, stay, and let thy master do the deed : 
One blow of that strong arm would ease my pain ; 
Then I should lie at quiet and have rest. 



SAMSON. 63 

Pity forsook thee at thy birth ! O Dagon 

Furious, and all ye gods of Palestine, 

Withdraw your hand ! I am but a weak woman, 

Alas, I am wedded to your enemy ! 

I will go mad, and tear my crisped hair ; 

I'll run about, and pierce the ears o' the gods ! 

Samson, hold me not ; thou lov'st me not ! 
Look not upon me with those deathful eyes ! 
Thou wouldst my death, and death approaches 

fast." 
Thus, in false tears, she bathed his feet. 
And thus she day by day oppressed his soul. 
He seemed a mountain, his brow among the clouds ; 
She seemed a silver stream, his feet embracing. 

Dark thoughts rolled to and fro in his mind, 
Like thunder- clouds troubling the sky ; 
His visage was troubled ; his soul was distressed. 
" Though I should tell her all my heart, what can 

I fear ? 
Though I should tell this secret of my birth. 
The utmost may be warded off as well when told as 

now." 

She saw him moved, and thus resumes her wiles. 
" Samson, I'm thine ; do with me what thou wilt ; 
My friends are enemies ; my life is death ; 

1 am a traitor to my nation, and despised ; 
My joy is given into the hands of him 

Who hates me, using deceit to the wife of his 

bosom. 
Thrice hast thou mocked me and grieved my soul. 
Didst thou not tell me with green withes to bind 



64 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Thy nervous arms, and, after that, 

When I had found thy falsehood, with new ropes 

To bind thee fast ? I knew thou didst but mock 

me. 
Alas, when in thy sleep I bound thee with them, 
To try thy truth, I cried, * The Philistines 
Be upon thee, Samson ! ' Then did suspicion wake 

thee; 
How didst thou rend the feeble ties ! 
Thou fearest nought, what shouldst thou fear ? 
Thy power is more than mortal, none can hurt 

thee; 
Thy bones are brass, thy sinews are iron ; 
Ten thousand spears are like the summer grass ; 
An army of mighty men are as flocks in the 

valleys : 
What canst thou fear? I drink my tears like water; 
I live upon sorrow ! worse than wolves and tigers, 
What canst thou give when such a trifle is denied 

me? 
But oh ! at last thou mockest me, to shame 
My over-fond enquiry ! Thou told'st me 
To weave thee to the beam by thy strong hair ; 
I did even that to try thy truth ; but, when 
I cried ^ The Philistines be upon thee !' then 
Didst thou leave me to bewail that Samson loved 

me not." 

He sat, and inward grieved : 

He saw and loved the beauteous suppliant. 

Nor could conceal aught that might appease her. 

Then, leaning on her bosom, thus he spoke: 

*^ Hear, Dalila ! doubt no more of Samson's love ; 



SAMSON. 65 

For that fair breast was made the ivory palace 
Of my inmost heart, where it shall lie at rest. 
For sorrow is the lot of all of woman born : 
For care was I brought forth, and labour is my 

lot: 
Nor matchless might, nor wisdom, nor every gift 

enjoyed. 
Can from the heart of man hide sorrow. 
Twice was my birth foretold from heaven, and 

twice 
A sacred vow enjoined me that I should drink 
No wine, nor eat of any unclean thing, 
For holy unto Israel's God I am, 
A Nazarite even from my mother's womb. 
Twice was it told, that it might not be broken. 
' Grant me a son, kind Heaven,' Manoa cried ; 
But Heaven refused. 
Childless he mourned, but thought his God knew 

best. 
In solitude, though not obscure, in Israel 
He lived, till venerable age came on : 
His flocks increased, and plenty crowned his 

board : 
Beloved, revered of man. But God hath other joys 
In store. Is burdened Israel his grief? 
The son of his old age shall set it free ! 
The venerable sweetener of his life 
Receives the promise first from heaven. She saw 
The maidens play, and blessed their innocen 

mirth ; 
She blessed each new-joined pair ; but from, her 
The long- wished deliverer shall spring. 
Pensive, alone she sat within the house, 

F 



66 blake's poems. 

When busy day was fading, and calm evening, 

Time for contemplation, rose 

From the forsaken east, and drew the curtains of 

heaven. 
Pensive she sat, and thought on Israel's grief. 
And silent prayed to Israel's God ; when lo ! 
An angel from the fields of light entered the house. 
His form was manhood in the prime. 
And from his spacious brow shot terrors through 

the evening shade. 
But mild he hailed her — ' Hail, highly favoured ! ' 

said he ; 
* For lo ! thou shalt conceive, and bear a son, 
And Israel's strength shall be upon his shoulders, 
And he shall be called Israel's Deliverer. 
Now, therefore, drink no wine, and eat not any 

unclean thing. 
For he shall be a Nazarite to God/ 
Then, as a neighbour, when his evening tale is told. 
Departs, his blessing leaving, so seemed he to 

depart : 
She wondered with exceeding joy, nor knew he 

was an angel. 
Manoa left his fields to sit in the house. 
And take his evening's rest from labour — 
The sweetest time that God has allotted mortal 

man. 
He sat, and heard with joy. 
And praised God, who Israel still doth keep. 
The time rolled on, and Israel groaned oppressed. 
The sword was bright, while the ploughshare 

rusted. 
Till hope grew feeble, and was ready to give place 

to doubting. 



SAMSON. 67 

Then prayed Manoa : 

* Lord, thy flock is scattered on the hills, — 
The wolf teareth them ; 

Oppression stretches his rod over our land ; 

Our country is ploughed with swords, and reaped 

in blood ; 
The echoes of slaughter reach from hill to hill ; 
Instead of peaceful pipe, the shepherd bears 
A sword ; the ox-goad is turned into a spear ! 
Oh when shall our Deliverer come ? 
The Philistine riots on our flocks. 
Our vintage is gathered by bands of enemies ! 
Stretch forth thy hand, and save.' — Thus prayed 

Manoa. 
The aged woman walked into the field. 
And lo ! again the angel came. 
Clad as a traveller fresh risen on his journey. 
She ran and called her husband, who came and 

talked with him. 

* man of God,' said he, ^ thou com'st from far ! 
Let us detain thee while I make ready a kid, 
That thou mayst sit and eat, and tell us of thy 

name and warfare ; ^ 
That, when thy sayings come to pass, we may 

honour thee.' 
The angel answered, * My name is Wonderful ; 
Enquire not after it, seeing it is a secret ; 
But, if thou wilt, off*er an oflering unto the Lord."' 

[end of the poetical sketches.] 



' Should this word be " wayfai-e " ? 




THE BOOK OF THEL. 

(ENaEAYED 1789.) 

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit, 

Or wilt thou go ask the Mole ? 
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod, 

Or Love in a golden bowl ? 

I. 

PHE Daughters of the Seraphim led round 
their sunny flocks, — 
All but the youngest : she in paleness 
sought the secret air, 
To fade away like '^morning beauty from her 

mortal day. 
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is 

heard, 
And thus her gentle lamentation falls like 
morning dew. 

" life of this our Spring ! why fades the lotus of 

the water ? 
Why fade these children of the Spring, born but 

to smile and fall ? 
Ah ! Thel is like a watery bow, and like a parting 

cloud, 



THE BOOK OF THEL. 69 

Like a reflection in a glass, like shadows in the 

water, 
Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an 

infant's face, 
Like the dove's voice, like transient day, like music 

in the air. 
Ah ! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest 

my head, 
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle 

hear the voice 
Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening 

time!" 

The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the humble 



Answered the lovely maid, and said : " I am a 

watery weed, 
And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly 

vales ; 
So weak the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my 

head. 
Yet I am visited from heaven ; and He that smiles 

on all 
Walks in the valley, and each morn over me 

spreads his hand, 
Saying, ' Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new- 
born lily-flower. 
Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest 

brooks ; 
For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with 

morning manna. 
Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains 

and the springs, 



70 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should 

Thel complain ? 
Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter 

a sigh?" 

She ceased, and smiled in tears, then sat down in 
her silver shrine. 

Thel answered : " O thou little virgin of the 
peaceful valley, 

Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, 
the o'ertired. 

Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb; he 
smells thy milky garments. 

He crops thy flowers, while thou sittest smiling ^ 
in his face, 

Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all con- 
tagious taints. 

Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy 
perfume, 

Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of 
grass that springs. 

Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire- 
breathing steed. 

But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising 
sun: 

I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall 
find my place ? " 

'^ Queen of the vales," the Lily answered, " ask 

the tender Cloud, 
And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning 

sky. 



THE BOOK OF THEL. 71 

And why it scatters its bright beauty through the 

humid air. 
Descend, little Cloud, and hover before the eyes 

of Thel." 

The Cloud descended ; and the Lily bowed her 

modest head, 
And went to mind her numerous charge among 

the verdant grass. 

II. 

^' little Cloud," the virgin said, " I charge thee 

tell to me 
Why thou complainest not, when in one hour thou 

fad'st away : 
Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah ! Thel 

is like to thee, — 
I pass away ; yet I complain, and no one hears my 

voice." 

The Cloud then showed his golden head, and his 

bright form emerged. 
Hovering and glittering on the air, before the face 

of Thel. 

" virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of 

the. golden springs 
Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st 

thou on my youth, 
And fearest thou because I vanish and am seen 

no more? 
Nothing remains. maid, I tell thee, when I 

pass away, 



72 blake's poems. 

It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures 

holy. 
Unseen descending weigh my light wings upon 

balmy flowers, 
And court the fair-eyed Dew to take me to her 

shining tent : 
The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the 

risen sun, 
Till we arise, linked in a golden band, and never 

part. 
But walk united, bearing food to all our tender 

flowers." 

" Dost thou, little Cloud ? I fear thaf I am 

not like thee ; — 
For I walk through the vales of Har, and smell 

the sweetest flowers. 
But I feed not the little flowers: I hear the 

warbling birds. 
But I feed not the warbling birds, they fly and 

seek their food. 
But Thel delights in these no more ! because I 

fade away. 
And all shall say, ' Without a use this shining 

woman lived. 
Or did she only live to be at death the food of 

worms ? ' " 

The Cloud reclined upon his airy throne, and 
answered thus : 

" Then if thou art the food of worms, virgin of 
the skies. 



THE BOOK OF THEL. 73 

How great thy use, how great thy blessing ! 

Every thing that lives 
Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I 

will call 
The weak Worm from its lowly bed, and thou 

shalt hear its voice. 
Come forth. Worm of the silent valley, to thy 

pensive queen." 

The helpless Worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's 

leaf, 
And the bright Cloud sailed on to find his partner 

in the vale. 

III. 

Then Thel, astonished, viewed the Worm upon its 
dewy bed. 

^' Art thou a worm, image of weakness ? art thou 

but a worm ? 
I see thee, like an infant, wrapped in the Lily's 

leaf. 
Ah ! weep not, little voice ; thou canst not- speak, 

but thou canst weep. 
Is this a worm ? I see thee lie helpless and naked, 

weeping, 
And none to answer, none to cherish thee with 

mother's smiles." 

The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice, and 

raised her pitying head : 
She bowed over the weeping infant, and her life 

exhaled 



74 blake's poems. 

In milky fondness: then on Thel she fixed her 
humble eyes. 

'' beauty of the vales of Har ! we live not for 

ourselves. 
Thou seest me, the meanest thing, and so I am 

indeed. 
My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark ; 
But He that loves the lowly pours his oil upon 

my head, 
And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands ^ 

around my breast, 
And says : — ' Thou mother of my children, I have 

loved thee. 
And I have given thee a crown that none can 

take away.' 
But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I 

cannot know ; 
I ponder, and I cannot ponder: yet I live and 

love ! " 

The Daughter of Beauty wiped her pitying tears 
with her white veil, 

And said : — " Alas ! I knew not this, and there- 
fore did I weep. 

That God would love a worm I knew, and punish 
the evil foot 

That wilful bruised its helpless form ; but that 
he cherished it 

With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore 
did I weep. 

And I complained in the mild air, because I fade 
away, 



THE BOOK OF THEL. 75 

And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my 
shining lot." 

** Queen of the vales/' the matron Clay answered, 

" I heard thy sighs, 
And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have 

called them down. 
Wilt thou, queen, enter my house ? 'Tis given 

thee to enter, 
And to return : fear nothing, enter with thy virgin 

feet." 

IV. 

The eternal gates' terrific Porter lifted the 

northern bar; 
Thel entered in, and saw the secrets of the land 

unknown. 
She saw the couches of the dead, and where the 

fibrous root 
Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless 

twists : 
* A land of sorrows and of tears, where never smile 

was seen. 

She wandered in the land of clouds, through 

valleys dark, listening 
Dolours and lamentations, wailing oft beside a 

dewy grave. 
She stood in silence, listening to the voices of the 

ground, 
Till to her own grave-plot she came, and there she 

sat down, 
And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the 

hollow pit. 



76 blake's poems. 

^^Why cannot the ear be closed to its own 

destruction ? 
Or the glistening eye to the poison of a smile ? 
Why are eyelids stored with arrows ready drawn, 
Where a thousand fighting-men in ambush lie. 
Or an eye of gifts and graces showering fruits and 

coined gold ? 
Why a tongue impressed with honey from every 

wind? 
Why an ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in ? 
Why a nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and 

affright? 
Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning 

boy? • 
Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our 

desire?" 

The Virgin started from her seat, and with a 

shriek 
Fled back unhindered till she came into the vale« 

of Har. 




77 




A MOTTO.i 

^HE Good are attracted by men's per- 
ceptions. 
And think not for themselves, 
Till Experience teaches them to catch 
And to cage the Fairies and Elves. 

And then the Knave begins to snarl, 

And the Hypocrite to howl ; 
And all his good friends show their private ends, 

And the Eagle is known from the Owl. 



* This motto has been found in MS., marked as intended 
for the Songs of Innocence and of Experience. It is here 
printed for the first time, in virtue of its interest of associa- 
tion rather than its merit. 






SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 
(Engrayed 1789.) 
INTRODUCTION. 



IPING down the valleys wild, 
Piping songs of pleasant glee, 

On a cloud I saw a child, 

And he laughing said to me : 



'' Pipe a song about a Lamb ! " 
So I piped with merry cheer. 

" Piper, pipe that song again ; " 
So I piped : he wept to hear. 

^^ Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; 
Sing thy songs of happy cheer ! " 
So I sang the same again, 

While he wept with joy to hear. 

" Piper, sit thee down and write 
In a book, that all may read.'' 
So he vanished from my sight ; 
And I plucked a hollow reed, 



SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 79 

And I made a rural pen, 

And I stained the water clear, 

And I wrote my happy songs 
Every child may joy to hear. 




THE SHEPHERD. 

OW sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot ! 
From the morn to the evening he 

strays ; 
He shall follow his sheep all the day, 
And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 

For he hears the lambs' innocent call, 
And he hears the ewes' tender reply ; 
He is watchful while they are in peace, 
For they know when their shepherd is nigh. 




THE ECHOING GREEN. 

HE sun does arise. 
And make happy the skies ; 
The merry bells ring, 
To welcome the Spring ; 

The skylark and thrush. 

The birds of the bush, 

Sing louder around 

To the bells' cheerful sound ; 

While our sports shall be seen 

On the echoing green. 



80 blake's poems. 

Old John, with white hair, 
Does laugh away care, 
Sitting under the oak, 
Among the old folk. 
They laugh at our play, 
And soon they all say, 
" Such, such were the joys 
When we all — girls and boys — 
In our youth-time were seen 
On the echoing green." 

Till the little ones, weary^ — ^ 
No more can be merry ; 
The sun does descend, 
And our sports have an end. 
Round the laps of their mothers 
Many sisters and brothers. 
Like birds in their nest. 
Are ready for rest. 
And sport no more seen 
On the darkening green. 



THE LAMB. 

ITTLE lamb, who made thee ? 
Dost thou know who made thee, 
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed 
By the stream and o'er the mead ; 
Gave thee clothing of delight, 
Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; 




SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 81 

Gave thee such a tender voice, 
Making all the vales rejoice ? 

Little lamb, who made thee ? 

Dost thou know who made thee ? 

Little lamb, I'll tell thee ; 

Little lamb, I'll tell thee : 
He is called by thy name, 
For He calls himself a Lamb. 
He is meek, and He is mild. 
He became a little child. 
I a child, and thou a lamb, 
We are called by his name. 

Little lamb, God bless thee ! 

Little lamb, God bless thee ! 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. 

I Y mother bore me in the southern wild, 
And I am black, but oh my soul is 
white ! 
White as an angel is the English child. 
But I am black, as if bereaved of light. 

Mj mother taught me underneath a tree, 
And, sitting down before the heat of day, 

She took me on her lap and kissed me, 
And, pointing to the East, began to say : 

" Look on the rising sun : there God does live. 
And gives his light, and gives his heat away, 
a 




82 blake's poems. 

And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive 
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 

^' And we are put on earth a little space, 

That we may learn to bear the beams of love ; 

And these black bodies and this sunburnt face 
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 

" For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear, 
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his voice, 

Saying, ' Come out from the grove, my love and 
care, ^ 

And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.' '^ 

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, 
And thus I say to little English boy. 

When I from black, and he from white cloud free. 
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, 

I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear 
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee ; 

And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair. 
And be like him, and he will then love me. 



THE BLOSSOM. 

ERRY, merry sparrow ! 

Under leaves so green 

A happy blossom 

Sees you, swift as arrow. 
Seek your cradle narrow, 
Near my bosom. 




SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 83 

Pretty, pretty robin ! 
Under leaves so green 
A happy blossom 
Hears you sobbing, sobbing, 
Pretty, pretty robin, 
Near my bosom. 



THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER. 

^HEN my mother died I was very young. 
And my father sold me vrhile yet my 

tongue 
Could scarcely cry " Weep ! weep ! 
weep ! weep ! " 
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. 

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, 
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved ; so I 

said, 
" Hush, Tom ! never mind it, for, when your head's 

bare. 
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white 

hair." 

And so he was quiet, and that very night, 

As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight ! — 

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and 

Jack, 
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. 




84 blake's poems. 

And by came an angel, who had a bright key, 
And he opened the coffins, and set them all free ; 
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they 

run, 
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. 

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind. 
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind ; 
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,^ 
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. 

And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark. 
And got with our bags and our brushes to work. 
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy 

and warm : 
So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. 



THE LITTLE BOY LOST. 



ATHER, father, where are you going ? 
Oh do not walk so fast ! 
Speak, father, speak to your little boy, 
Or else I shall be lost." 



The night was dark, no father was there, 

The child was wet with dew ; 
The mire was deep, and the child did weep. 

And away the vapour flew. 





SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 85 



THE LITTLE BOY FOUND. 

HE little boy lost in the lonely fen, 
Led by the wandering light, 
Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, 
Appeared like his father, in white. 

He kissed the child, and by the hand led, 

And to his mother brought. 
Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale. 

The little boy weeping sought. 



LAUGHING SONG. 

?HEN the green woods laugh with the 
voice of joy. 
And the dimpling stream runs laughing 
by; 

When the air does laugh with our merry wit. 
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it ; 

When the meadows laugh with lively green. 
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene ; 
When Mary and Susan and Emily 
With their sweet round mouths sing " Ha ha he ! " 

When the painted birds laugh in the shade. 
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread : 
Come live, and be merry, and join with me. 
To sing the sweet chorus of " Ha ha he ! " 




86 blare's poems. 



A CRADLE SONG. 




WEET dreams, form a shade 
O'er my lovely infant's head !^ ~~ 
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams 
By happy, silent, moony beams ! 



Sweet Sleep, with soft down 
Weave thy brows an infant crown ! 
Sweet Sleep, angel mild. 
Hover o'er my happy child ! 

Sweet smiles, in the night 
Hover over my delight ! 
Sweet smiles, mother's smile. 
All the livelong night beguile. 

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs. 
Chase not slumber from thine eyes ! 
Sweet moan, sweeter smile. 
All the dovelike moans beguile. 

Sleep, sleep, happy child ! 
All creation slept and smiled. 
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep. 
While o'er thee doth mother weep. 

Sweet babe, in thy face 
Holy image I can trace ; 
Sweet babe, once like thee 
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me : 



SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 87 

Wept for me, for thee, for all, 
"When He was an infant small. 
Thou his image ever see, 
Heavenly face that smiles on thee ! 

Smiles on thee, on me, on all. 
Who became an infant small ; 
Infant smiles are his own smiles ; 
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. 



THE DIVINE IMAGE. 



Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, 
All pray in their distress, 
And to these virtues of delight 
Return their thankfulness. 



For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, 
Is God our Father dear ; 

And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, 
Is man, his child and care. 

For Mercy has a human heart ; 

Pity, a human face ; 
And Love, the human form divine ; 

And Peace, the human dress. 

Then every man, of every clime, 
That prays in his distress. 

Prays to the human form divine : 
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. 





88 blake's poems. 

And all must love the human form, 
In heathen, Turk, or Jew. 

Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, 
There God is dwelling too. 



HOLY THURSDAY. 

fWAS on a Holy Thursday, their inno- 
cent faces clean. 
Came children walking two and two, 
in red, and blue, and green : 
Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as 

white as snow, 
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames 
waters flow. 

Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of 

London town ! 
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all 

their own. 
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes 

of lambs. 
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their 

innocent hands. 

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the 

voice of song. 
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of 

heaven among : 
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of 

the poor. 
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from 

your door. 



SONGS OF innocence: 




NIGHT. 

HE sun descending in the west, 
The evening star does shine ; 
The birds are silent in their nest, 
And I must seek for mine. 

The moon, like a flower 

In heaven's high bower, 

With silent delight. 

Sits and smiles on the night. 

Farewell, green fields and happy grove, 
Where flocks have ta'en delight. 
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move 
The feet of angels bright ; 

Unseen, they pour blessing, 

And joy without ceasing. 

On each bud and blossom. 

And each sleeping bosom. 

They look in every thoughtless nest 

Where birds are covered warm ; 

They visit caves of every beast, 

To keep them all from harm: 
If they see any weeping 
That should have been sleeping, 
They pour sleep on their head. 
And sit down by their bed. 



90 ' blake's poems. 

When wolves and tigers howl for prey, 
They pitying stand and weep ; 
Seeking to drive their thirst away, 
And keep them from the sheep. 

But, if they rush dreadful, 

The angels, most heedful,- — ^ 

Receive each mild spirit, 

New worlds to inherit. 

And there the lion's ruddy eyes 
Shall flow with tears of gold : 
And pitying the tender cries, 
And walking round the fold : 

Saying : '' Wrath by His meekness, 

And, by His health, sickness. 

Are driven away 

From our immortal day. 

^^ And now beside thee, bleating lamb, 

I can lie down and sleep, 

Or think on Him who bore thy name. 

Graze after thee, and weep. 
For, washed in life's river, 
My bright mane for ever 
Shall shine like the gold. 
As I guard o'er the fold." 



^^SV^Sj^ 




SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 91 



SPRING. 

lOUND the flute ! 
Now 'tis mute ; 
Birds delight, 
Day and night, 
Nightingale 
In the dale, 
Lark in sky, — 
Merrily, 
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. 

Little boy. 
Full of joy; 
Little girl, 
Sweet and small ; 
Cock does crow, 
So do you ; 
Merry voice. 
Infant noise ; 
Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year. 

Little lamb. 
Here I am ; 
Come and lick 
My white neck ; 
Let me pull 
Your soft wool ; 
Let me kiss 
Your soft face ; 
Merrily, merrily we welcome in the year. 




92 blake's poems. 



NURSE'S SONG. 

^HEN the voices of children are heard 
on the green, / 

And laughing is heard/ on the hill, 
My heart is at rest within my breast, 
And everything else is still. 
" Then come home, my children, the sun is gone 
down, 
• And the dews of night arise ; 
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away, 
Till the morning appears in the skies." 

" No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, 

And we cannot go to sleep ; 
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly. 

And the hills are all covered with sheep." 
" Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, 

And then go home to bed." 
The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed, 

And all the hills echoed. 



INFANT JOY. 

HAVE no name ; 

I am but two days old." 

What shall I caU thee ? 

" I happy am, 
Joy is my name." 
Sweet joy befall thee ! 





SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 93 

Pretty joy ! 

Sweet joy, but two days old. 

Sweet joy I call thee : 

Thou dost smile, 

I sing the while ; 

Sweet joy befall thee ! 



A DREAM. 

NCE a dream did weave a shade 
O'er my angel-guarded bed, 
That an emmet lost its way 
Where on grass methought I lay. 

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, 
Dark, benighted, travel-worn. 
Over many a tangled spray, 
All heart-broke, I heard her say : 

^' Oh my children ! do they cry, 
Do they hear their father sigh ? 
Kow they look abroad to see. 
Now return and weep for me." 

Pitying, I dropped a tear : 
But I saw a glow-worm near. 
Who replied, " What wailing wight 
Calls the watchman of the night ? 

'' I am set to light the ground. 
While the beetle goes his round : 
Follow now the beetle's hum ; 
Little wanderer, hie thee home ! " 



94 BLAKE'S POEMS. 



ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 




AN I see another|s woe, 
And not be in solrrow too ? 
Can I see another's grief, 
And not seek for kind relief? 



Can I see a falling tear, 
And not feel my sorrow's share ? 
Can .a father see his child 
"Weep, nor be with sorrow filled ? 

Can a mother sit and hear 
An infant groan, an infant fear ? 
No, no ! never can it be ! 
Never, never can it be ! 

And can He who smiles on all 
Hear the wren with sorrows small. 
Hear the small bird's grief and care, 
Hear the woes that infants bear — 

And not sit beside the nest, 
Pouring pity in their breast, 
And not sit the cradle near. 
Weeping tear on infant's tear ? 

And not sit both night and day, 
Wiping all our tears away ? 
Oh no ! never can it be ! 
Never, never can it be ! 



SONGS OF INNOCENCE. 95 

He doth give his joy to all : 
He becomes an infant small. 
He becomes a man of woe, 
He doth feel the sorrow too. 

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, 
And thy Maker is not by : 
Think not thou canst weep a tear. 
And thy Maker is not near. 

Oh He gives to us his joy, 
That our grief He may destroy : 
Till our grief is fled and gone 
He doth sit by us and moan. 



THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD. 

|OUTH of delight ! come hither 
And see the opening morn. 
Image of Truth new-born. 
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason. 

Dark disputes and artful teazing. 

Folly is an endless maze ; 

Tangled roots perplex her ways ; 

How many have fallen there ! 

They stumble all night over bones of the dead ; 

And feel — they know not what but care ; 

And wish to lead others, when they should be led. 





SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 

(Engeaved 1794.)! 
INTRODUCTION. 

EAR the voice of the Bard, 
Who present, past, and future, sees ; 
Whose ears have heard 
The Holy Word 
That walked among the ancient trees ; 

Calling the lapsed soul. 

And weeping in the evening dew ; 

That might control 

The starry pole, 

And fallen, fallen light renew ! 

'' Earth, Earth, return ! 

Arise from out the dewy grass ! 

Night is worn. 

And the morn 

Rises from the slumbrous mass. 



* In order of date, the Songs of Experience should follow 
after the Gates of Paradise ; which were issued in 1793, but 
their close connection with the Songs of Innocence induces me 
to invert this order. 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 97 

" Turn away no more ; 

Why wilt thou turn away ? 

The starry floor, 

The watery shore, 

Are given thee till the break of day." 



EARTH'S ANSWER. 

^ARTH raised up her head 
From the darkness dread and drear, 
Her light fled, 
Stony, dread. 
And her locks covered with grey despair. 

'^ Prisoned on watery shore, 

Starry jealousy does keep my den 

Cold and hoar ; 

Weeping o'er, 

I hear the father of the ancient men. 

'' Selfish father of men ! 

Cruel, jealous, selfish fear ! 

Can delight. 

Chained in night. 

The virgins of youth and morning bear ? 

" Does spring hide its joy. 

When buds and blossoms grow ? 

Does the sower 

Sow by night, 

Or the ploughman in darkness plough ? 




98 , blake's poems. 

*^ Break this heavy chain, 

That does freeze my bones around ! 

Selfish, vain, 

Eternal bane, 

That free love with bondage bound." 



THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE. 

OVE seeketh not itself to please, 
Nor for itself hath any care, 
But for another gives its ease. 
And builds a heaven in hell's despair." 

So sang a little clod of clay, 

Trodden with the cattle's feet. 
But a pebble of the brook 

Warbled out these metres meet : 

" Love seeketh only Self to please, 

To bind another to its delight, 
Joys in another's loss of ease, 

And builds a hell in heaven's despite.'^ 



HOLY THUESDAY. 

S this a holy thing to see 

In a rich and fruitful land, — 
Babes reduced to misery. 

Fed with cold and usurous hand ? 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 99 

Is that trembling cry a song ? 

Can it be a song of joy ? 
And so many children poor ? 

It is a land of poverty ! 

And their sun does never shine, 
And their fields are bleak and bare, 

And their ways are filled with thorns : 
It is eternal winter there. 

For where'er the sun does shine, 
And where'er the rain does fall, 

Babes should never hunger there, 
Nor poverty the mind appall. ^ 



THE LITTLE GIRL LOST. 



N futurity 
I prophetic see 
That the earth from sleep 
(Grave the sentence deep) 



Shall arise, and seek 
For her Maker meek ; 
And the desert wild 
Become a garden mild. 

In the southern clime, 
Where the summer's prime 
Never fades away. 
Lovely Lyca lay. 

LOFC. 




100 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Seven summers old 
Lovely Lyca told. 
She had wandered long, 
Hearing wild birds' song. 

" Sweet sleep, come to me 
Underneath this tree ; 
Do father, mother, weep ? 
Where can Lyca sleep ? 

'' Lost in desert wild 
Is your little child. 
How can Lyca sleep 
If her mother weep ? 

" If her heart does ache, 
Then let Lyca wake ; 
If my mother sleep, 
Lyca shall not weep. 

" Frowning, frowning night, 
O'er this desert bright 
Let thy moon arise. 
While I close my eyes." 

Sleeping Lyca lay 
While the beasts of prey. 
Come from caverns deep. 
Viewed the maid asleep. 

The kingly lion stood, ' 
And the virgin viewed : 
Then he gambolled round 
O'er the hallowed ground. 



SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 101 

Leopards, tigers, play 
Round her as she lay ; 
While the lion old 
Bowed his mane of gold, 

And her breast did lick 
And upon her neck, 
From his eyes of flame. 
Ruby tears there came ; 

While the lioness 
Loosed her slender dress, 
And naked they conveyed 
To caves the sleeping maid. 



THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND. 




LL the night in woe 
Lyca's parents go 
Over valleys deep. 
While the deserts weep. 



Tired and woe~begone. 
Hoarse with making naoan, 
Arm in arm, seven days 
They traced the desert ways. 

Seven nights they sleep 
Among shadows deep. 
And dream they see their child 
Starved in desert wild. 



102 blake's poems. 

Pale through pathless ways 
The fancied image strays, 
Famished, weeping, weak, 
With hollow piteous shriek. 

Rising from unrest. 
The trembling woman pressed 
With feet of weary woe ; 
She could no further go. 

In his arms he bore 

Her, armed with sorrow sore ; 

Till before their way 

A couching lion lay. 

Turning back was vain: 
Soon his heavy mane 
Bore them to the ground. 
Then he stalked around, 

Smelling to his prey ; 
But their fears allay 
When he licks their hands, 
And silent by them stands. 

They look upon his eyes, 
Filled with deep surprise ; 
And wondering behold 
A spirit armed in gold. 

On his head a crown. 
On his shoulders down 
Flowed his golden hair. 
Gone was all their care. 



SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 103 

^^ Follow me," he said ; 
" Weep not for the maid ; 
In my palace deep, 
Lyca lies asleep." 

Then they followed 
Where the vision led, 
And saw their sleeping child 
Among tigers wild. 

To this day they dwell 
In a lonely dell, 
Nor fear the wolvish howl 
Nor the lion's growl. 



THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. 

LITTLE black thing among the snow, 
Crying " weep ! weep ! " in notes of 

woe ! 
^' Where are thy father and mother? 
Say!"— 
^' They are both gone up to the church to pray. 

^^ Because I was happy upon the heath, 
And smiled among the winter's snow, 
They clothed me in the clothes of death. 
And taught me to sing the notes of woe. 

^' And because I am happy and dance and sing, 
They think they have done me no injury. 
And are gone to praise God and his priest and king. 
Who make up a heaven of our misery." 





104 blake's poems. 



NURSE'S SONG. 

HEN the voices of children are heard on 
the green, 
And whisperings are in the dale, 
The days of my youth rise fresh in my 
mind, 
My face turns green and pale. 



Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down. 

And the dews of night arise ; 
Your spring and your day are wasted in play, 

And your winter and night in disguise. 



THE SICK ROSE. 



ROSE, thou art sick ! 

The invisible worm, 
That flies in the night, 

In the howling storm, 



Has found out thy bed 
Of crimson joy. 

And his dark secret love 
Does thy life destroy. 





SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 105 



THE FLY. 

ITTLE Fly, 
Thy summer's play 
My thoughtless hand 
Has brushed away,. 



Am not I 
A fly like thee? 
Or art not thou 
A man like me ? 

For I dance, 
And drink, and sing, 
Till some blind hand 
Shall brush my wing. 

If thought is life 

And strength and breath, 

And the want 

Of thought is death ; 

Then am I 
A happy fly, 
If I live, 
Or if I die. 



x::;OyG^ 



106 blake's poems. 



THE ANGEL. 




DREAMT a dream ! What can it mean? 
And that I was a maiden Queen 
Guarded by an Angel mild : 
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled ! 



And I wept both night and day, 
And he wiped my tears away ; 
And I wept both day and night, 
And hid from him my heart's delight. 

So he took his wings, and fled ; 
Then the morn blushed rosy red. 
I dried my tears, and armed my fears 
With ten-thousand shields and spears. 

Soon my Angel came again ; 
I was armed, he came in vain ; 
For the time of youth was fled. 
And grey hairs were on my head. 



THE TIGER. 

IGER, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night. 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 107 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? 
On what wings dare he aspire ? 
What the hand dare seize the fire ? 

And what shoulder and what art 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? 
And, when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand and what dread feet ? 

What the hammer ? what the chain ? 
In what furnace was thy brain ? 
What the anvil ? what dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did he smile his work to see ? 
Did he who made the lamb make thee ? 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 



MY PRETTY ROSE TREE. 

FLOWER was oflPered to me, 

Such a flower as May never bore ; 

But I said " I've a pretty rose tree/' 
And I passed the sweet flower o'er. 




108 blake's poems. 

Then I went to my pretty rose tree, 
To tend her by day and by night ; 

But my rose turned away with jealousy, 
And her thorns were my only delight. 




AH SUNFLOWER. 

H Sunflower, weary of time, 

Who countest the steps of the sun ; 
Seeking after that sweet golden clime 
Where the traveller's journey is 
done; 



Where the Youth pined away with desire, 
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, 

Arise from their graves, and aspire 
Where my Sunflower wishes to go ! 



THE LILY. 

^HE modest Rose puts forth a thorn, 
The humble sheep a threat'ning horn : 
While the Lily white shall in love 
delight, 
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. 





SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 109 



THE GARDEN OF LOVE. 

LAID me down upon a bank, 
Where Love lay sleeping ; 

I heard among the rushes dank 
Weeping, weeping. 



Then I went to the heath and the wild, 
To the thistles and thorns of the waste ; 

And they told me how they were beguiled. 
Driven out, and compelled to be chaste. 

I went to the Garden of Love, 
And saw what I never had seen ; 

A Chapel was built in the midst. 
Where I used to play on the green. 

And the gates of this Chapel were shut. 
And " Thou shalt not" writ over the door ; 

So I turned to the Garden of Love 
That so many sweet flowers bore. 

And I saw it was filled with graves. 

And tombstones where flowers should be; 
And priests in black gowns were walking their 

rounds, 
And binding with briars my joys and desires. 




110 blake's poems. 



THE LITTLE VAGABOND. 

^EAR mother, dear mother, the Church 
is cold; 
But the Alehouse is healthy, and plea- 
sant, and warm. 
Besides, I can tell where I am used well ; 
The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder 
swell. 

But, if at the Church they would give us some ale, 
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale, 
We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day. 
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray. 

Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing, 
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring ; 
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, 
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor 
birch. 

And God, like a father, rejoicing to see 
His children as pleasant and happy as he. 
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the 

barrel. 
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel. 



c^^4^ 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. Ill 



LONDON. 

WANDER through each chartered 
street. 
Near where the chartered Thames 
does flow, 
A mark in every face I meet 

Marks of weakness, marks of woe. 

In every cry of every man, 

In every infant's cry of fear, 
In every voice, in every ban. 

The mind-forged manacles I hear : 

How the chimney-sweeper's cry 

Every blackening church appalls, 
And the hapless soldier's sigh 

Runs in blood down palace-walls. 

But most, through midnight streets I hear 

How the youthful harlot's curse 
Blasts the new-born infant's tear. 

And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse. 



THE HUMAN ABSTRACT. 

ITY would be no more 
If we did not make somebody poor. 
And Mercy no more could be 
If all were as happy as we. 




112 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

And mutual fear brings Peace, 
Till the selfish loves increase ; 
Then Cruelty knits a snare, 
And spreads his baits with care. 

He sits down with holy fears, 
And waters the ground with tears ; 
Then Humility takes its root 
Underneath his foot. 

Soon spreads the dismal shade 
Of Mystery over his head, 
And the caterpillar and fly 
Feed on the Mystery. 

And it bears the fruit of Deceit, 
Euddy and sweet to eat. 
And the raven his nest has made 
In its thickest shade. 

The gods of the earth and sea 
Sought through nature to find this tree, 
But their search was all in vain : 
There grows one in the human Brain. 



INFANT SORROW. 

Y mother groaned, my father wept : 
Into the dangerous world I leapt, 
Helpless, naked, piping loud, 
Like a fiend hid in a cloud. 





SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 113 

Struggling in mj father's hands, 
Striving against my swaddling-bands, 
Bound and weary, I thought best 
To sulk upon my mother's breast. 



CHRISTIAN FORBEARANCE. 



WAS angry with my friend : 

I told my wrath, my wrath did end. 

I was angry with my foe : 

I told it not, my wrath did grow. 



And I watered it in fears 
Night and morning with my tears. 
And I sunned it with smiles 
And with soft deceitful wiles. 

And it grew both day and night 
Till it bore an apple bright. 
And my foe beheld it shine. 
And he knew that it was mine, — 

And into my garden stole 

When the night had veiled the pole; 

In the morning, glad, I see 

My foe outstretched beneath the tree. 



-^K^ 




114 . blake's poems. 



A LITTLE BOY LOST. 

OUGHT loves another as itself, 
Nor venerates another so, 
Nor is it possible to thought 
A greater than itself to know. 

"And, father, how can I love you 

Or any of my brothers more ? 
I love you like the little bird 

That picks up crumbs around the door." 

The Priest sat by and heard the child ; 

In trembling zeal he seized his hair, 
He led him by his little coat, 

And all admired the priestly care. 

And standing on the altar high, 

" Lo, what a fiend is here ! " said he : 

" One who sets reason up for judge 
Of our most holy mystery." 

The weeping child could not be heard, 
The weeping parents wept in vain : 

They stripped him to his little shirt. 
And bound him in an iron chain, 

And burned him in a holy place 

Where many had been burned before ; 

The weeping parents wept in vain. 

Are such things done on Albion's shore ? 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 115 



A LITTLE GIRL LOST. 

HILDREN of the future age, 
Reading this indignant page, 
Know that in a former time 
Love, sweet love, was thought a crime. 



In the age of gold, 

Free from winter's cold. 

Youth and maiden bright, 

To the holy light, 

Naked in the sunny beams delight. 

Once a youthful pair, 

Filled with softest care. 

Met in garden bright 

Where the holy light 

Had just removed the curtains of the night. 

Then, in rising day. 

On the grass they play ; 

Parents were afar, 

Strangers came not near, 

And the maiden soon forgot her fear. 

Tired with kisses sweet. 

They agree to meet 

When the silent sleep 

Waves o'er heaven's deep, 

And the weary tired wanderers weep. 



116 blake's poems. 

To her father white 

Came the maiden bright ; 

But his loving look, 

Like the holy book, 

All her tender limbs with terror shook. 

" Ona, pale and weak, 

To thy father speak ! 

Oh the trembling fear ! 

Oh the dismal care 

That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair'J'^ 



A DIVINE IMAGE. 

RUELTY has a human heart, 
And Jealousy a human face ; 
Terror the human form divine. 
And Secresy the human dress. 



The human dress is forged iron. 
The human form a fiery forge, 

The human face a furnace sealed. 
The human heart its hungry gorge. 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 117 




A CRADLE SONG.i 

LEEP, sleep, beauty bright, 
Dreaming in the joys of night ; 
Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
Little sorrows sit and weep. 



Sweet babe, in thy face 
Soft desires I can trace, 
Secret joys and secret smiles. 
Little pretty infant wiles. 

As thy softest limbs I feel, 
Smiles as of the morning steal 
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
Where thy little heart doth rest. 

Oh the cunning wiles that creep 
In thy little heart asleep ! 
When thy little heart doth wake. 
Then the dreadful light shall break. 



^ This poem was not included in Blake's own edition of 
the Songs of Experience, But (as observed by D. G. 
Rossetti in Gilchrist's Life of Blake) it was obviously written 
to match with the Cradle Song pertaining to the Songs of 
Innocence, and here it finds its proper place. 



118 blake's poems. 



THE SCHOOLBOY. 




LOVE to rise on a summer morn, 
When birds are singing on every 
tree ; 
The distant huntsman winds his horn, 
^^^ the skylark sings with me : 
^h what sweet company ! 

But to go to school in a summer morn, — 

Oh it drives all joy away ! 
Under a cruel eye outworn, 

The little ones spend the day 

In sighing and dismay. 

Ah then at times I drooping sit. 
And spend many an anxious hour ; 

Nor in my book can I take delight. 
Nor sit in learning's bower. 
Worn through with the dreary shower. 

How can the bird that is born for joy 

Sit in a cage and sing ? 
How can a child, when fears annoy, 

But droop his tender wing. 

And forget his youthful spring ? 

father and mother, if buds are nipped. 
And blossoms blown away ; 
And if the tender plants are stripped 
Of their joy in the springing day. 
By sorrow and care's dismay, — 




SONGS OF EXPERIENCE. 119 

How shall the summer arise in joy, 
Or the summer fruits appear ? 

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, 
Or bless the mellowing year, 
When the blasts of winter appear ? 



TO TIRZAH. 

HATE'ER is born of mortal birth 
Must be consumed with the earth, 
To rise from generation free : 
Then what have I to do with thee ? 



The sexes sprang from shame and pride, 
Blown in the morn, in evening died ; 
But mercy changed death into sleep ; 
The sexes rose to work and weep. 

Thou, mother of my mortal part, 
With cruelty didst mould my heart. 
And with false self-deceiving tears 
Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears. 

Didst close my tongue in senseless clay. 
And me to mortal life betray. 
The death of Jesus set me free : 
Then what have I to do with thee ? 



END OF THE SONGS OP EXPEETENCE. 




120 blare's poems. 

THE TIGER.1 

(second version.) 



IGER, Tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Framed thy fearful symmetry ? 



In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned that fire within thine eyes ? 
On what wings dared he aspire ? 
What the hand dared seize the fire ? 

And what shoulder and what art 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? 
When thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand formed thy dread feet? 

What the hammer, what the chain. 
Knit thy strength and forged thy brain ? 
What the anvil ? What dread grasp 
Dared thy deadly terrors clasp ? 



* At p. 106 I have given this noble poem as it appears in 
Blake^s engraved Songs of Experience, The present version 
is the one which figures in Mr. Gilchrist's book, and shows 
certain variations on MS. authority. These may be regarded 
as improvements; and I think it better to include this 
version as well. 




LAFAYETTE. 121 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did he smile his work to see ? 
Did he who made the lamb make thee ? 



LAFAYETTE.i 

?ET the brothels of Paris be opened, 
With many an alluring dance, 
To awake the physicians through the 
city,'' 
Said the beautiful Queen of France. 

The King awoke on his couch of gold, 

As soon as he heard these tidings told : 

^' Arise and come, both fife and drum, 

And the famine shall eat both crust and crumb." 

Then he swore a great and solemn oath, 

" To kill the people I am loth : " 

And said—" I love hanging and drawing and 

quartering 
Every bit as well as war and slaughtering." 



^ This poem (or fragment of a poem) is extracted from 
Mr. D. G. Rossetti's MS. book. It was not published in 
Mr. Gilchrist's work, being deemed too odd and imperfect. 
There is, however, a certain element of poetical force in the 
poem, and it is at any rate extremely curious as indicating 
Blake's conceptions of contemporary history and politics. 
The MS. of it is much complicated by false starts and 
variations. 



122 blake's poems. 

Fayette beside King Lewis stood ; 

He saw him sign his hand ; 
And soon he saw the famine rage 

About the fruitful land. 

Fayette beheld the Queen to smile, 

And wink her lovely eye ; 
And soon he saw the pestilence 

From street to street to fly. 

The Queen of France just touched this globe, 
And the pestilence darted from her robe : 
But the bloodthirsty people across the water 
Will not submit to the gibbet and halter. 

Fayette beheld the King and Queen 

In curses and iron bound : 
But mute Fayette wept tear for tear. 

And guarded them around. 

Fayette, Fayette, thou'rt bought and sold, 
And sold is thy happy morrow ; 

Thou givest the tears of pity away 
In exchange for the tears of sorrow. 

Will the mother exchange her newborn babe 
For the dog at the wintry door ? 

Yet thou dost exchange thy pitying tears 
For the links of a dungeon-floor ! 



THE GATES OF PAEADISE. 

(Engea^yed 1793). 
INTRODUCTION. 

UTUAL forgiveness of each vice, 
Such are the Gates of Paradise, 
Against the Accuser's chief desire, 
Who walked among the stones of fire. 
Jehovah's fingers wrote the Law : 
He wept ; then rose in zeal and awe. 
And, in the midst of Sinai's heat, 
Hid it beneath his Mercy-Seat. 

Christians ! Christians ! tell me why 
You rear it on your altars high ! 




THE KEYS OF THE GATES.i 

HE caterpillar on the leaf 
Reminds thee of thy mother's grief. 
My Eternal Man set in repose, 
The Female from his darkness rose ; 
And she found me beneath a tree, 

' These lines summarize the general drift of the successive 
designs to which they are appended. 




124 blake's poems. 

A mandrake, and in her veil hid me. 
Serpent reasonings us entice 
Of good and evil, virtue, vice. 
Doubt self-jealous, watery folly. 
Struggling through Earth's melancholy. 
Naked in air, in shame and fear. 
Blind in fire, with shield and spear, 
Two horrid reasoning cloven fictions, 
In doubt which is self-contradiction, 
A dark hermaphrodite I stood, — 
Rational truth, root of evil and good. 
Round me, flew the flaming sword ; 
Round her, snowy whirlwinds roared, 
Freezing her veil, the mundane shell. 
I rent the veil where the dead dwell : 
When weary man enters his cave. 
He meets his Saviour in the grave. 
Some find a female garment there, 
And some a male, woven with care, 
Lest the sexual garments sweet 
Should grow a devouring winding-sheet. 
One dies ! alas ! the living and dead ! 
One is slain, and one is fled ! 
In vain-glory hatched and nursed. 
By double spectres, self-accursed. 
My son ! my son ! thou treatest me 
But as I have instructed thee. 
On the shadows of the moon. 
Climbing through night's highest noon : 
In Time's ocean falling, drowned : 
In aged ignorance profound, 
Holy and cold, I clipped the wings 
Of all sublunary things : 



THE GATES OF PARADISE. 125 

And in depths of icy dungeons 
Closed the father and the sons. 
But, when once I did descry 
The Immortal Man that cannot die, 
Through evening shades I haste away 
To close the labours of my day. 
The door of Death I open found, 
And the worm weaving in the ground ; 
Thou'rt my mother, from the womb ; 
Wife, sister, daughter, to the tomb : 
Weaving to dreams the sexual strife, 
And weeping over the web of life. 



EPILOGUE. 

TO THE ACCUSEE, WHO IS THE GOD 
OF THIS WOELD. 

"^^ RULY, my Satan, thou art but a dunce, 
And dost not know the garment from 
the man ; 
Every harlot was a virgin once. 
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan. 
Though thou art worshiped by the names divine 

Of Jesus and Jehovah, thou art still 
The son of morn in weary night's decline, 
The lost traveller s dream under the hill. 




126 blake's poems. 




TO MY DEAR FRIEND, 

MRS. ANNA FLAXMAN. 

PHIS song to the flower of Flaxman's joy ; 
To the blossom of hope, for a sweet 

decoy ; 
Do all that you can, or all that you may, 
To entice him to Felpham and far away. 

Away to sweet Felpham, for heaven is there ; 
The ladder of angels descends through the air ; 
On the turret ^ its spiral does softly descend, 
Through the village then winds, at my cot it does 
end. 

You stand in the village and look up to heaven ; 
The precious stones glitter on flight seventy-seven ; 
And my brother is there ; and my friend and thine 
Descend and ascend with the bread and the wine. 

The bread of sweet thought and the wine of 

delight 
Feed the village of Felpham by day and by night ; 
And at his own door the bless'd Hermit ^ does 

stand. 
Dispensing unceasing to all the wide land. 

* Turret of Hayley's house. 

2 Hayley, the " Hermit of Eartham." 




127 



TO MR. BUTTS.i 

my friend Butts I write 
My first vision of light, 
On the yellow sands sitting. 
The sun was emitting 

His glorious beams 

From heaven's high streams. 

Over sea, over land, 

My eyes did expand 

Into regions of air. 

Away from all care ; 

Into regions of fire, 

Remote from desire : 

The light of the morning 

Heaven's mountains adorning. 

In particles bright, 

The jewels of light 

Distinct shone and clear. 

Amazed and in fear 

I each particle gazed, 

Astonished, amazed ; 

For each was a man 

Human-formed. Swift I ran. 

For they beckoned to me, 

Remote by the sea. 

Saying : " Each grain of sand. 

Every stone on the land. 



^ These verses come from a letter sent by Blake from 
Felpham to Mr. Butts on 2nd October, 1800. 



128 blake's poems. 

Each rock and each hill, 
Each fountain and rill, 
Each herb and each tree, 
Mountain, hill, earth, and sea, 
Cloud, meteor, and star, 
Are men seen afar." 
I stood in the streams 
Of heaven's bright beams, 
And saw Felpham sweet 
Beneath my bright feet, 
In soft female charms ; 
And in her fair arms 
My shadow I knew, 
And my wife's shadow too, 
And my sister and friend. 
We like infants descend 
In our shadows on earth, 
Like a weak mortal birth. 
My eyes more and more. 
Like a sea without shore, 
Continue expanding. 
The heavens commanding, 
Till the jewels of light, 
Heavenly men beaming bright, 
Appeared as one man, 
Who complacent began 
My limbs to infold 
In his beams of bright gold ; 
Like dross purged away 
All my mire and my clay. 
Soft consumed in delight. 
In his bosom sun-bright 
I remained. Soft he smiled, 



TO MRS. BUTTS. 129 

And I heard his voice mild, 
Saying : " This is my fold, 
thou ram horned with gold, 
Who awakest from sleep 
On the sides of the deep. 
On the mountains around 
The roarings resound 
Of the lion and wolf. 
The loud sea and deep gulph. 
These are guards of my fold, 

thou ram horned with gold ! " 
And the voice faded mild, — 

1 remained as a child ; 
All I ever had known 
Before me bright shone : 
I saw you and your wife 
By the fountains of life. 
Such the vision to me 
Appeared on the sea. 



TO MKS. BUTTS.i 

; IFE of the friend of those I most revere, 
Receive this tribute from a harp 

sincere ; 
Go on in virtuous seed-sowing on 
mould 
Of human vegetation, and behold 
Your harvest springing to eternal life, 
Parent of youthful minds, and happy wife. 

^ Sent in the same letter as the preceding verses. 




130 BLAKE'S POEMS. 



VERSES.i 




^ITH happiness stretched across the hills 
In a cloud that dewy sweetness distils, 
With a blue sky spread over with wings, 
And a mild sun that mounts and sings ; 
With trees and fields full of fairy elves, 
And little devils who fight for themselves, 
Remembering the verses that Hayley sung 
When my heart knocked against the root of my 

tongue, 
With angels planted in hawthorn bowers, 
And God himself in the passing hours ; 
With silver angels across my way, 
And golden demons that none can stay ; 
With my father hovering upon the wind. 
And my brother Robert just behind. 
And my brother John, the evil one,^ 
In a black cloud making his moan ; 
(Though dead, they appear upon my path, 
Notwithstanding my terrible wrath ; 
They beg, they entreat, they drop their tears, 
Filled full of hopes, filled full of fears ;) 
With a thousand angels upon the wind. 
Pouring disconsolate from behind 



* From a letter to Mr. Butts, dated towards November, 
1802. The verses (Blake says) "were composed above a 
twelvemonth ago, while walking from Felpham to Lavant, 
to meet my sister." 

2 The eldest brother, who enlisted as a soldier. 



VERSES. ISI 

To drive them off, — and before my way 
A frowning Thistle implores my stay. 
What to others a trifle appears 
Fills me full of smiles or tears ; 
For double the vision my eyes do see, 
And a double vision is always with me. 
With my inward eye, 'tis an old man grey ; 
With my outward, a thistle across my way, 

" If thou goest back," the Thistle said, 
'^ Thou art to endless woe betrayed ; 
For here does Theotormon lour, 
xind here is Enitharmon's bower, ^ 
And Los the terrible thus hath sworn, 
Because thou backward dost return. 
Poverty, envy, old age, and fear. 
Shall bring thy wife upon a bier ; 
And Butts shall give what Fuseli gave, 
A dark black rock and a gloomy cave." 
I struck the thistle with my foot, 
And broke him up from his delving root. 
" Must the duties of life each other cross ? 
Must every joy be dung and dross ? 
Must my dear Butts feel cold neglect 
Because I give Hayley his due respect ? 
Must Flaxman look upon me as wild, 
And all my friends be with doubts beguiled ? 
Must my wife live in my sister's bane, 
Or my sister survive on my Love's pain ? 
The curses of Los, the terrible shade. 
And his dismal terrors, make me afraid." 

^ Enitharmon and Los are Space and Time. 



132 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

So I spoke, and struck in my wrath 
The old man weltering upon my path. 
Then Los appeared in all his power : 
In the sun he appeared, descending before 
My face in fierce flames ; in my double sight, 
'Twas outward a sun, — inward, Los in his 

might. 
" My hands are laboured day and night, 
And ease comes never in my sight. 
My wife has no indulgence given. 
Except what comes to her from heaven. 
We eat little, we drink less ; 
This earth breeds not our happiness. 
Another sun feeds our life's streams ; 
We are not warmed with thy beams. 
Thou measurest not the time to me, 
Nor yet the space that I do see : 
My mind is not with thy light arrayed ; 
Thy terrors shall not make me afraid." 

When I had my defiance given, 
The sun stood trembleing in heaven ; 
The moon, that glowed remote below, 
Became leprous and white as snow ; 
And every soul of man on the earth 
Felt afiliction and sorrow and sickness and dearth. 
Los flamed in my path, and the sun was hot 
With the bows of my mind and the arrows of 

thought : 
My bowstring fierce with ardour breathes, 
My arrows glow in their golden sheaves. 
My brother and father march before ; 
The heavens drop with human gore. 



VERSES. 133 

Now I a fourfold vision see, 
And a fourfold vision is given to me ; 
'Tis fourfold in my supreme delight, 
And threefold in soft Beulah's night, 
And twofold always. May God us keep 
From single vision, and Newton's sleep ! 



VERSES.i 

^^ H why was I born with a different face ? 
Why was I not born like the rest of 

my race ? 
When I look, each one starts ; when I 
speak, I offend ; 
Then Fm silent and passive, and lose every friend. 

Then my verse I dishonour, my pictures despise ; 
My person degrade, and my temper chastise ; 
And the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame ; 
All my talents I bury, and dead is my fame. 
I am either too low or too highly prized ; 
When elate I am envied, when meek I'm despised. 



J These verses are contained in Blake's last extant letter 
from Felpham, dated 16th August 1803. They refer to dif- 
ferences which had arisen between himself and some of his 
acquaintances, particularly Hayley. 




FEOM 

JEEUSALEM. 

(engeaveb 1804.) 




TO THE PUBLIC.! 

READER— of books— of heaven— 
And of that God from whom . . . • . 
Who in mysterious Sinai's awful cave 
To Man the wondrous art of writing 
. ^ gave, 

Again he speaks in thunder and in fire, 
Thunder of thought, and flames of fierce desire : 
Even from the depths of hell his voice I hear 
Within the unfathomed caverns of my ear. 
Therefore I print : nor vain my types shall be,— 
Heaven, Earth, and Hell, henceforth shall live in 
harmony. 



From the preface to Chapter I. of the Jerusalem* 




JERUSALEM 135 

11. 

TO THE JEWS. 

HE fields from Islington to Marybone, 
To Primrose Hill and Saint John's 

Wood, 
Were builded over with pillars of gold ; 
And there Jerusalem's pillars stood. 

Her little ones ran on the fields, 

The Lamb of God among them seen ; 

And fair Jerusalem, his Bride, 
Among the little meadows green. 

Pancras and Kentish Town repose 

Among her golden pillars high, 
Among her golden arches which 

Shine upon the starry sky. 

The Jews'-Harp House and the Green Man, 
The ponds where boys to bathe delight, 

The fields of cows by Welling's Farm, 
Shine in Jerusalem's pleasant sight. 

She walks upon our meadows green, 
The Lamb of God walks by her side ; 

And every English child is seen. 
Children of Jesus and his Bride ; 



136 blake's poems. 

Forgiving trespasses and sins, 

Lest Babylon, with cruel Og, 
With moral and self-righteous law, 

Should crucify in Satan's synagogue. 

What are those golden builders doing 

Near mournful ever-weeping Paddington- 

Standing above that mighty ruin 
Where Satan the first victory won ? 

Where Albion slept beneath the fatal tree, 

And the Druid's golden knife 
Rioted in human gore. 

In offerings of human life ? 

They groaned aloud on London Stone, 
They groaned aloud on Tyburn's brook : 

Albion gave his deadly groan. 

And all the Atlantic mountains shook. 

Albion's spectre from his loins 
Tore forth in all the pomp of war, 

Satan his name : in flames of fire. 
He stretched his druid pillars far. 

Jerusalem fell from Lambeth's vale 
Down through Poplar and Old Bow, 

Through Maiden, and across the sea. 
In war and howling, death and woe. 

The Rhine was red with human blood. 
The Danube rolled a purple tide ; 

On the Euphrates Satan stood, 
And over Asia stretched his pride. 



JERUSALEM. 137 

He withered up sweet Zion's hill 

From every nation of the earth ; 
He withered up Jerusalem's gates, 

And in a dark land gave her birth. 

He withered up the human form 

By laws of sacrifice for sin, 
Till it became a mortal worm. 

But oh translucent all within ! 

The Divine Vision still was seen, 
Still was the human form divine ; 

Weeping, in weak and mortal clay, 
Jesus ! still the form was thine ! 



And thine the human face ; and thine 
The human hands, and feet, and breath, 

Entering through the gates of birth. 
And passing through the gates of death. 

And thou Lamb of God ! whom I 
Slew in my dark self-righteous pride. 

Art thou returned to Albion's land ? 
And is Jerusalem thy Bride ? 

Come to my arms, and never more 
Depart, but dwell for ever here ; 

Create my spirit to thy Love, 
Subdue my spectre ^ to thy fear. 



' My spectre" means probably **my reasoning power.'^ 



138 blake's poems. 

Spectre of Albion ! warlike fiend ! 

In clouds of blood and ruin rolled, 
I here reclaim thee as mj own, 

My selfhood ; Satan armed in gold. 

Is this thy soft family love ? 

Thy cruel patriarchal pride ? 
Planting thy family alone, 

Destroying all the world beside ? 

A man's worst enemies are those 
Of his own house and family : 

And he who makes his law a curse 
By his own law shall surely die. 

In my exchanges every land 

Shall walk ; and mine in every land, 
Mutual, shall build Jerusalem, 

Both heart in heart and hand in hand. 



III. 
TO THE DEISTS. 




SAW a Monk of Charlemagne 

Arise before my sight : 
I talked with the Grey Monk as we 
stood 
In beams of infernal light. 



JERUSALEM. 13& 

Gibbon arose with a lash of steel, 
And Voltaire with a racking wheel : 
The Schools, in clouds of learning rolled, 
Arose with War in iron and gold. 

" Thou lazy Monk/' they sound afar, 
" In vain condemning glorious war ! 
And in your cell you shall ever dwell; — 
Eise, War, and bind him in his cell ! " 

The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,. 
His hands and feet were wounded wide, 
His body bent, his arms and knees 
Like to the roots of ancient trees. 

When Satan first the black bow bent. 
And the Moral Law from the Gospel rent. 
He forged the Law into a sword. 
And spilled the blood of Mercy's Lord. 

Titus ! Constantino ! Charlemagne ! 
Voltaire ! Rousseau ! Gibbon ! Vain 
Your Grecian mocks and Roman sword 
Against the image of his Lord. 

For a tear is an intellectual thing, 
And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King 
And the bitter groan of a martyr's woe 
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow. 



140 blake's poems. 




IV. 

TO THE CHRISTIANS. 

GIVE you the end of a golden string : 
Only wind it into a ball, — 

It will lead you in at Heaven's gate 
Built in Jerusalem's wall. 



I stood among my valleys of the south, 
And saw a flame of fire, even as a wheel 
Of fire surrounding all the heavens : it went 
From west to east against the current of 
Creation, and devoured all things in its loud 
Fury and thundering course round heaven and 

earth. 
By it the sun was rolled into an orb ; 
By it the moon faded into a globe 
Travelling through the night : for, from its dire 
And restless fury Man himself shrunk up 
Into a little root a fathom long. 
And I asked a Watcher and a Holy-one 
Its name. He answered : " It is the wheel of 

Religion." 
I wept and said : " Is this the law of Jesus, — 
This terrible devouring sword turning every way ? " 
He answered : *' Jesus died because he strove 
Against the current of this wheel : its name 
Is Caiaphas, the dark preacher of Death, 



JERUSALEM. 141 

Of sin, of sorrow, and of punishment ; 

Opposing Nature : It is Natural Religion. 

But Jesus is the bright preacher of Life, 

Creating Nature from this fiery Law, 

By self-denial and forgiveness of sin. 

Go therefore, cast out devils in Christ's name, 

Heal thou the sick of spiritual disease, 

Pity the evil : for thou art not sent 

To smite with terror and with punishments 

Those that are sick, like to the pharisees 

Crucifying and encompassing sea and land 

For proselytes to tyranny and wrath. 

But to the publicans and harlots go : 

Teach them true happiness, but let no curse 

Go forth out of thy mouth to blight their peace : 

For Hell is opened to Heaven : thine eyes behold 

The dungeons burst, and the prisoners set free.". 



England ! awake ! awake ! awake ! 

Jerusalem thy sister calls ! 
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death. 

And close her from thy ancient walls ? 

Thy hills and valleys felt her feet 
Gently upon their bosoms move : 

Thy gates beheld sweet Zion's ways ; 
Then was a time of joy and love. 

And now the time returns again : 

Our souls exult; and London's towers 

Receive the Lamb of God to dwell 

In England's green and pleasant bowers. 




142 blake's poems. 

FROM THE PROPHETIC BOOK ^^ MILTON." 
(engkayed 1804.) 

ND did those feet in ancient time 
Walk upon England's mountain 
green ? 
And was the holy Lamb of God 
On England's pleasant pastures seen ? 

And did the countenance divine 

Shine forth upon our clouded hills ? 

And was Jerusalem builded here 
Among these dark Satanic mills ? 

Bring me my bow of burning gold ! 

Bring me my arrows of desire ! 
Bring me my spear : clouds, unfold ! 

Bring me my chariot of fire ! 

I will not cease from mental fight, 
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, 

Till we have built Jerusalem 

In England's green and pleasant land. 




143 



DEDICATION OF THE DESIGNS TO 
BLAIR'S ^^ GRAVE." 

To QijEEN" Charlotte. 

j'HE door of Death is made of gold, 
That mortal eyes cannot behold : 
But, when the mortal eyes are closed, 
And cold and pale the limbs reposed, 

The soul awakes, and, wondering, sees 

In her mild hand the golden keys. 

The grave is heaven's golden gate, 

And rich and poor around it wait : 

Shepherdess of England's fold. 

Behold this gate of pearl and gold ! 

To dedicate to England's Queen 
The visions that my soul has seen, 
And by her kind permission bring 
What I have borne on solemn wing 
From the vast regions of the grave. 
Before her throne my wings I wave. 
Bowing before my sovereign's feet. 
The Grave produced these blossoms sweet, 
In mild repos6 from earthly strife ; 
The blossoms of eternal life. 




144 blake's poems. 



THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL.^ 



HE vision of Christ that thou dost see 
Is my vision's greatest enemy. 
Thine is the friend of all mankind ; 
Mine speaks in parables to the blind. 



* This wholly amazing and partly splendid poem is now 
published in full for the first time. The greater part of it, 
^ Q however, appears in Mr. Swinburne's book, William Blake, 

a Critical Essay, in detached extracts, with intermixed com- 
ment : one extract from it had also been given in Gilchrist's 
Life of Blake, The MS. of the poem is in the autograph 
volume belonging to D. G. Kossetti. It is scattered up and 
down over many pages ; sometimes written neatly enough, 
and consecutively ; at other times, barely legible. Here a 
passage is scratched out or interpolated: there a passage 
already met with reappears with variations. I have done 
my best to arrange the verses into some sort of order and 
method ; with what success, the reader must judge. The 
poem would appear to be completed by Blake in the evolu- 
tion of some of its passages, but certainly not of the whole. 

As regards the dates of the numerous compositions extracted 
from the same autograph volume, it may be observed that 
six items distinctly dated by Blake's own hand appear in 
that book, the earliest appertaining to the year 1793, and 
the latest to 1811. Even without these positive indications, 
it is evident, from the spacious range in Blake's life and work 
covered by the contents of the volume, that it was in use for 
many successive years. Beyond this intimation, I have not 
thought it requisite to try to arrange in order of date the poems 
contained in the autograph volume. They include the poem 
Lafayette, and extend from the present point down to the 
verses I^ a Myrtle Shade ; and then from Mammon to The 
Will and the Way. They include also the Couplets and 
Fragments, and the Epigrams and Satirical Pieces on Art and 
Artists, with very few exceptions. 



THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL. 145 

Thine loves the same world that mine hates ; 

Thy heaven-doors are my hell-gates. 

Socrates taught what Meletiis 

Loathed as a nation's bitterest curse ; 

And Caiaphas was, in his own mind, 

A benefactor to mankind. 

Both read the bible day and night ; 

But thou read'st black where I read white. -^ 



Was Jesus born of a virgin pure, 

With narrow soul and looks demure ? 

If he intended to take on sin, 

His mother should an harlot have been ; 

Just such a one as Magdalen, 

With seven devils in her pen. 

Or were Jew virgins still more curst, 

And more sucking devils nursed ? 

Or what was it which he took on, 

That he might bring salvation ? 

A body subject to be tempted, 

From neither pain nor grief exempted, — 

Or such a body as might not feel 

The passions that with sinners deal ? 

Yes, but they say he never fell : — 

Ask Caiaphas, for he can tell. 

*' He mocked the sabbath, and he mocked 

The sabbath's God, and he unlocked 

The evil spirits from their shrines, 

And turned fishermen to divines, 

O'erturned the tent of secret sins. 

And its golden cords and pins : 

L 



146 BLAKE'S POEMSe 

'Tis the bloody shrine of war, 

Poured around from star to star, — 

Halls of justice hating vice. 

Where the devil combs his lice. 

He turned the devils into swine, 

That he might tempt the Jews to dine ; 

Since when, a pig has got a look 

That for a Jew may be mistook. 

^ Obey your parents.' What says he ? 

' Woman, what have I to do with thee ? 

No earthly parents I confess, — 

I am doing my Father's business.' 

He scorned earth's parents, scorned earth's God, 

And mocked the one and the other rod ; 

His seventy disciples sent 

Against religion and government. 

They by the sword of justice fell, 

And him their cruel murderer tell. 

He left his father's trade, to roam 

A wandering vagrant without home : 

And thus he others' labour stole. 

That he might live above control. 

The publicans and harlots he 

Selected for his company. 

And from the adultress turned away 

God's righteous law, that lost its prey." i 

Was Jesus chaste, or did he 
Give any lessons of chastity ? 
The morning blushed fiery red, 
Mary was found in adulterous bed. 



THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL. 147 

Earth groaned beneath, and heaven above 

Trembled at discovery of love. 

Jesus was sitting in Moses' chair ; 

They brought the trembling woman there. 

Moses commands she be stoned to death : 

What was the sound of Jesus' breath ? 

He laid his hand on Moses' law ; 

The ancient heavens, in silent awe, 

Writ with curses from pole to pole, 

All away began to roll. 

The Earth trembling and naked lay 

In secret bed of mortal clay ; 

On Sinai felt the hand divine 

Putting back the bloody shrine ; 

And she heard the breath of God, 

As she heard by Eden's flood. 

" Good and evil are no more ; 

Sinai's trumpets, cease to roar ; 

Cease, finger of God, to write 

The heavens are not clean in thy sight. 

Thou art good, and thou alone. 

Nor may the sinner cast one stone. 

To be good only is to be 

A God, or else a pharisee. 

Thou angel of the presence divine. 

That didst create this body of mine 

Wherefore hast thou writ these laws. 

And created hell's dark jaws ? 

My presence I will take from thee : 

A cold leper thou shalt be. 

Though thou wast so pure and bright 

That heaven was impure in thy sight. 

Though thine oath turned heaven pale, 



148 blake's poems. 

Though thy covenant built hell's jail. 
Though thou didst all to chaos roll 
With the serpent for its soul, — 
Still the breath divine does move, 
And the breath divine is love. — 
Mary, fear not. Let me see 
The seven devils that torment thee. 
Hide not from my sight thy sin, 
That forgiveness thou mayst win. 
Hath no man condemned thee?" — 
" No man, Lord." — ^' Then what is he 
Who shall accuse thee ? Come ye forth. 
Fallen fiends of heavenly birth. 
That have forgot your ancient love, 
And driven away my trembling dove ! 
You shall bow before her feet ; 
You shall lick the dust for meat ; 
And, though you cannot love but hate. 
Shall be beggars at love's gate.-; — 
What was thy love ? Let me see't : 
Was it love, or dark deceit ? " 
" Love too long from me has fled : 
^Twas dark deceit, to earn my bread ; 
'Twas covet, or 'twas custom, or 
Some trifle not worth caring for ; 
That they may call a shame and sin 
Love's temple that God dwelleth in, 
And hide in secret hidden shrine 
The naked human form divine. 
And render that a lawless thing 
On which the soul expands her wing. 
But this, Lord, this was my sin — 
When first I let those devils in, 



THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL. 149 

In dark pretence to chastity, 
Blaspheming love, blaspheming thee. 
Thence rose secret adulteries, 
And thence did covet also rise. 
My sin thou hast forgiven me : 
Canst thou forgive my blasphemy ? 
Canst thou return to this dark hell, 
And in my burning bosom dwell ? 
And canst thou die, that I may live ? 
And canst thou pity and forgive ? " ^ 

Was Jesus humble, or did he 

Give any proofs of humility. 

Boast of high things with humble tone. 

And give with charity a stone ? 

When but a child he ran away. 

And left his parents in dismay. 

When they had wandered three days long. 

These were the words upon his tongue : 

'' No earthly parents I confess ; 

I am doing my Father's business." 

When the rich learned Pharisee 

Came to consult him secretly. 

Upon his heart with iron pen 

He wrote " Ye must be born again." 

He was too proud to take a bribe ; 

He spoke with authority, not like a scribe. 

He says with most consummate art, 

^* Follow me, I am meek and lowly of heart : '' 

As that is the only way to escape 

The miser's net and the glutton's trap. 



150 blake's poems. 

He who loves his enemies hates his friends ; 

This surely is not what Jesus intends, — 

But the sneaking pride of heroic schools, 

And the scribes' and pharisees' virtuous rules 

For he acts with honest triumphant pride, — 

And this is the cause that Jesus died. 

He did not die with christian, ease, 

Asking pardon of his enemies : 

If he had, Caiaphas would forgive, — 

Sneaking submission can always live. 

He had only to say that God was the Devil, 

And the Devil was God, like a christian civil. 

Mild christian regrets to the Devil confess 

For affronting him thrice in the wilderness, — 

He had soon been bloody Caesar's elf, 

And at last would have been Csesar himself, y 

' John from the wilderness loud cried : 
Satan gloried in his pride. 
" Come," said Satan, '' come away : 
I'll soon see if you'll obey ! 
John for disobedience bled. 
But you can turn the stones to bread. 
God's high king and God's high priest 
Shall plant their glories in your breast, 
If Caiaphas you will obey. 
If Herod you with bloody prey 
Feed with the sacrifice, and be 
Obedient : — Fall down, worship me." ^ 

Thunders and lightning broke around. 
And Jesus' voice in thunder's sound. 
'' Thus I seize the spiritual prey : 



THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL. 151 

Ye smiters with disease, make way ! 
I come your King and God to seize : 
Is God a smiter with disease?" 

The god of this world raged in vain : 

He bound old Satan in his chain ; 

And, bursting forth, his furious ire 

Became a chariot of fire. 

Throughout the land he took his course. 

And traced diseases to their source : 

He cursed the scribe and pharisee, 

Trampling down hypocrisy. 

Where'er his chariot took its way, 

The gates of death let in the day. 

Broke down from every chain and bar ; 

And Satan, in his spiritual war. 

Dragged at his chariot- wheels. Loud howled 

The god of this world ; louder rolled 

The chariot- wheels ; and louder still 

His voice was heard from Zion's hill. 

And in his hand the scourge shone bright : 

He scourged the merchant Canaanite 

From out the temple of his mind. 

And in his body tight does bind 

Satan and all his hellish crew. 

And thus with wrath he did subdue 

The serpent bulk of Nature's dross, 

Till he had nailed it to the cross. 

He took on sin in the virgin's womb. 

And put it off on the cross and tomb, 

To be worshiped by the Church of Rome. ^ 

What was he doing all that time 



152 



From twelve years old to manly prime ? 

Was he then idle, or the less 

About his Father's business ? 

Or was his wisdom held in scorn 

Before his wrath began to burn 

In miracles throughout the land, 

That quite unnerved the seraph's hand ? 

If he had been Antichrist aping Jesus, 

He'd have done anything to please us ; 

Gone sneaking into synagogues, 

And not used the elders and. priests like dogs, 

But humble as a lamb or ass 

Obeyed himself to Caiaphas. 

God wants not man to humble himself: 

That is the trick of the ancient Elf. ^ 

This is the race that Jesus ran ; — 
Humble to God, haughty to man ; 
Cursing the rulers before the people 
Even to the temple's highest steeple : 
And, when he humbled himself to God, 
Then descended the cruel rod. 

^^ If thou humblest thyself, thou humblest me. 

Thou also dwell'st in eternity. 

Thou art a man : God is no more : 

Thine own humanity learn to adore, — 

For that is my spirit of life. 

Awake, arise to spiritual strife! 

And thy revenge abroad display 

In terror at the Last Judgment Day. 

God's mercy and long-suffering 

Are but the sinner to judgment to bring. 



THE EYERLASTING GOSPEL. 153 

Thou on the cross for them shalt pray, 
And take revenge at the last day." ' 

Jesus replied, and thunders hurled : 

" I never will pray for the world. 

Once I did so when I prayed in the garden ; 

I wished to take with me a bodily pardon."^ 

Can that which was of woman born 

In the absence of the morn, 

When the soul fell into sleep, 

And archangels round it weep. 

Shooting out against the light 

Fibres of a deadly night, 

Reasoning upon its own dark fiction, 

In doubt which is self-contradiction . . . ? 

Humility is only doubt, 

And does the sun and moon blot out, 

Roofing over with thorns and stems 

The buried soul and all its gems. 

This life's dim window of the soul 

Distorts the heavens from pole to pole. 

And leads you to believe a lie 

When you see with — not through — the eye. 

That was born in a night, to perish in a night, 

When the soul slept in the beams of light. / 

But, when Jesus was crucified. 

Then was perfected his galling pride. 

Then rolled the shadowy man away 

From the limbs of Jesus, to make them his prey. 

An ever-devouring appetite 

Glittering with festering venoms bright. 

Crying, '' Crucify this cause of distress, 



154 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Who don't keep the secrets of holiness ! 
All mental powers with diseases we bind : 
But he heals the deaf and the dumb and the blind, 
Whom God has afflicted for secret ends ; 
He comforts and heals and calls them friends." 

^ What can be done with such desperate fools 
Who follow after the heathen schools ? 
I was standing by when Jesus died : 
What they called humility I called pride. ^ 

y In three nights he devoured his prey, 
And still he devours the body of clay ; 
For dust and clay is the serpent's meat, 
Which never was made for man to eat. •^ 



"^ Did Jesus teach doubt, or did he 
Give lessons of philosophy ? 
Charge visionaries with deceiving. 
Or call men wise for not believing, — ' 
Like Doctor Priestley, Bacon, and Newton ? 
Poor spiritual knowledge is not worth a button ! 
For thus the Gospel Saint Isaac confutes ; 
'' God can only be known by his attributes ; 
And, as to the indwelling of the Holy Ghost, 
Or of Christ and the Father, it's all a boast. 
And pride and vanity of imagination. 
That disdains to follow this world's fashion." 
To teach doubt and experiment 
Certainly was not what Christ meant, i 

•^ I'm sure this Jesus will not do 
Either for Englishman or Jew. 




THE BIKDS. 155 



THE BIRDS. 

HE. 

HERE thou dwellest, in what grove, 
Tell me, fair one, tell me, love ; 
Where thou thy charming nest dost 

build, 
thou pride of every field ! 

SHE. 

Yonder stands a lonely tree : 
There I live and mourn for thee. 
Morning drinks my silent tear. 
And evening winds my sorrow bear. 

HE. 

thou summer's harmony, 

1 have lived and mourned for thee ; 
Each day I moan along the wood, 
And night hath heard my sorrows loud. 

SHE* 

Dost thou truly long for me ? 
And am I thus sweet to thee ? 
Sorrow now is at an end, 
my lover and my friend ! 

HE. 

Come ! on wings of joy we'll fly 
To where my bower is hung on high ; 
Come, and make thy calm retreat 
Among green leaves and blossoms sweet. 



156 BLAKE'S POEMS. 



BROKEN LOVE.i 




Y Spectre around me night and day- 
Like a wild beast guards my way ; 
My Emanation far within 
Weeps incessantly for my sin. 



^ Dante G. Kossetti, writing in the Life of Blake by Gil- 
christ, has offered the following elucidation of this poem: — 
" Never perhaps have the agony and perversity of sundered 
affection been more powerfully (however singularly) ex- 
pressed than in the piece called Broken Love. The speaker 
is one whose soul has been intensified by pain to be his only 
world, among the scenes, figures, and events of which he 
moves as in a new state of being. The emotions have been 
quickened and isolated by conflicting torment, till each is a 
separate companion. There is his ' spectre,' the jealous pride 
which scents in the snow the footsteps of the beloved rejected 
woman, but is a wild beast to guard his way from reaching 
her ; his ' emanation ' which silently weeps within him, for 
has not he also sinned? So they wander together in ^a 
fathomless and boundless deep,' the morn full of tempests 
and the night of tears. Let her weep, he says, not for his 
sins only, but for her own ; nay, he will cast his sins upon ■ 
her shoulders too ; they shall be more and more till she come 
to him again. Also this woe of his can array itself in stately 
imager}'-. He can count separately how many of his soul's 
affections the knife she stabbed it with has slain, how many 
yet mourn over the tombs which he has built for these : he 
can tell, too, of some that still watch around his bed, bright 
sometimes with ecstatic passion of melancholy, and crowning 
his mournful head with vine. All these living forgive her 
transgressions : when will she look upon them, that the 
dead may live again ? Has she not pity to give for pardon ? 
nay, does he not need her pardon too ^ He cannot seek her, 
but oh if she would return ! Surely her place is ready for 
her, and bread and wine of forgiveness of sins." Mr. Swin- 



BROKEN LOVE. 157 

A fathomless and boundless deep, 
There we wander, there we weep ; 
On the hungry craving wind 
My Spectre follows thee behind. 

He scents thy footsteps in the snow, 
Wheresoever thou dost go ; 
Through the wintry hail and rain 
When wilt thou return again ? 

Poor pale pitiable form 
That I follow in a storm. 
From sin I never shall be free 
Till thou forgive and come to me. 

A deep winter dark and cold 
Within my heart thou dost unfold ; 
Iron tears and groans of lead 
Thou bind'st around my aching head. 

Dost thou not in pride and scorn 
Fill with tempests all my morn. 
And with jealousies and fears ? — 
And fill my pleasant nights with tears ? 

O'er my sins thou dost sit and moan : 
Hast thou no sins of thine own ? 
O'er my sins thou dost sit and weep, 
And lull thine own sins fast asleep. 



buriie, in his work, William Blake, a Critical Essay (p. 278), 
attributes a more theoretical and mystical meaning to the 
poem, which he surmises to have been intended to form 
part of some sequel to the *' prophetic book " Jerusalem, 



158 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Thy weeping thou shalt ne'er give o'er ; 
I sin against thee more and more, 
And never will from sin be free 
Till thou forgive and come to me. 

What transgressions I commit 
Are for thy transgressions fit, — 
They thy harlots, thou their slave ; 
And my bed becomes their grave. 

Seven of my sweet loves thy knife 
Hath bereaved of their life : 
Their marble tombs I built with tears 
And with cold and shadowy fears. 

Seven more loves weep night and day 
Round the tombs where my loves lay, 
And seven more loves attend at night 
Around my couch with torches bright. 

And seven more loves in my bed 
Crown with vine my mournful head ; 
Pitying and forgiving all 
Thy transgressions, great and small. 

When wilt thou return, and view 
My loves, and them in life renew ? 
When wilt thou return and live ? 
When wilt thou pity as I forgive ? 

Throughout all eternity 

I forgive you, you forgive me. 

As our dear Redeemer said : 

" This the wine, and this the bread." 



159 




THE TWO SONGS. 



HEARD an Angel singing 
When the day was springing : 
" Mercy, pity, and peace, 
Are the world's release." 



So he sang all day 
Over the new-mown hay, 
Till the sun went down, 
And haycocks looked brown. 

I heard a Devil curse 

Over the heath and the furse : 

" Mercy could be no more 

If there were nobody poor, 

And pity no more could be 

If all were happy as ye : 

And mutual fear brings peace. 

Misery's increase 

Are mercy, pity, peace." 

At his curse the sun went down, 
And the heavens gave a frown. 



^ Some portions of this lyric resemble the opening of The 
Human Abstract, p. 111. 



160 blake's poems. 




THE DEFILED SANCTUARY. 



SAW a chapel all of gold 

That none did dare to enter in, 
And many weeping stood without, 

Weeping, mourning, worshiping. 



I saw a serpent rise between 
The white pillars of the door. 

And he forced and forced and forced] 
Till he the golden hinges tore : 

And along the pavement sweet, 
Set with pearls and rubies bright, 

All his shining length he drew, — 
Till upon the altar white 

He vomited his poison out 

On the bread and on the wdne. 

So I turned into a sty. 

And laid me down among the swine. 



161 



CUPID. 




HY was Cupid a boy, 

And why a boy was he ? 
He should have been a girl, 
For aught that I can see. 



For he shoots with his bow, 

And the girl shoots with her eye ; 

And they both are merry and glad, 
And laugh when we do cry. 

Then to make Cupid a boy 
Was surely a woman's plan. 

For a boy never learns so much 
Till he has become a man : 

And then he's so pierced with cares, 
And wounded with arrowy smarts, 

That the whole business of his life 
Is to pick out the heads of the darts. 



LOVE'S SECRET. 

^EVER seek to tell thy love, 

Love that never told can be ; 
For the gentle wind doth move 
Silently, invisibly. 




162 



I told my love, I told my love, 
I told her all my heart, 

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. 
Ah ! she did depart ! 

Soon after she was gone from me, 

A traveller came by, 
Silently, invisibly : 

He took her with a sigh. 



THE WILD FLOWER'S SONG. 

S I wandered in the forest 
The green leaves among^ 
I heard a wild-flower 
Singing a song. 

" I slept in the earth 

In the silent night ; 
I murmured my thoughts. 

And I felt delight. 

" In the morning I went. 

As rosy as morn. 
To seek for new joy, 

But I met with seorn.*^ 




^^M)^ 



163 




THE GOLDEN NET. 

ENEATH a white-thorn's lovely may, 
Three virgins at the break of day. — 
" Whither, young man, whither away ? 
Alas for woe ! alas for woe ! ^' 

They cry, and tears for ever flow. 

The first was clothed in flames of fire, 

The second clothed in iron wire ; 

The third was clothed in tears and sighs, 

Dazzling bright before my eyes. 

They bore a net of golden twine 

To hang upon the branches fine. 

Pitying I wept to see the woe 

That love and beauty undergo — 

To be clothed in burning fires 

And in ungratified desires. 

And in tears clothed night and day ; 

It melted all my soul away. 

When they saw my tears, a smile 

That might heaven itself beguile 

Bore the golden net aloft, 

As on downy pinions soft. 

Over the morning of my day. 

Underneath the net I stray, 

Now entreating Flaming-fire, 

Now entreating Iron-wire, 

Now entreating Tears-and-sighs. — 

Oh when will the morning rise ? 



164 



BLAKE'S POEMS. 




SCOFFERS. 

OCK on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau, 
Mock on, mock on ; 'tis all in vain ; 
You throw the sand against the wind, 
And the wind blows it back again. 



And every sand becomes a gem. 
Reflected in the beams divine ; 

Blown back, they blind the mocking eye, 
But still in Israel's paths they shine. 

The atoms of Democritus 

And Newton's particles of light 

Are sands upon the Red Sea shore 

Where Israel's tents do shine so bright. 



THE GREY MONK. 



DIE, I die," the Mother said, 
'^ My children die for lack of bread ! 
What more has the merciless tyrant 
said?" 
The Monk sat him down on her stony bed. 




^ See the verses To the Deists, with which the present 
poem corresponds to some extent. 



THE GREY MONK. 165 

The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side, 
His hands and feet were wounded wide, 
His body bent, his arms and knees 
Like to the roots of ancient trees. 

His eye was dry, no tear could flow, 
A hollow groan bespoke his woe ; 
He trembled and shuddered upon the bed ; 
At length with a feeble cry he said : — 

" When God commanded this hand to write 
In the shadowy hours of deep midnight, 
He told me that all I wrote should prove 
The bane of all that on earth I love. 

'^ My brother starved between two walls, 
His children's cry my soul appalls ; — 
I mocked at the rack and the grinding chain, — 
My bent body mocks at their torturing pain. 

^^ Thy father drew his sword in the north, 
With his thousands strong he is marched forth ; 
Thy brother hath armed himself in steel. 
To revenge the wrongs thy children feel. 

" But vain the sword, and vain the bow, — 
They never can work war's overthrow ; 
The hermit's prayer and the widow's tear 
Alone can free the world from fear. 

'^ For a tear is an intellectual thing. 
And a sigh is the sword of an angel king ; 
And the bitter groan of a martyr's woe 
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow." 




166 blake's poems. 

The hand of vengeance found the bed 
To which the purple tyrant fled ; 
The iron hand crushed the tyrant's head, 
And became a tyrant in his stead. 



DAYBREAK. 

find the western path, 
Right through the gates of wrath 

I urge my way ; 
Sweet morning leads me on ; 
With soft repentant moan 
I see the break of day. 

The war of swords and spears, 
Melted by dewy tears, 

Exhales on high ; 
The sun is freed from fears. 
And with soft grateful tears 

Ascends the sky. 



THAMES AND OHIO. 

^HY should I care for the men of Thames, 
And the cheating waters of chartered 

streams, 
Or shrink at the little blasts of fear 
That the hireKng blows into mine ear ? 




RICHES. 167 

Though born on the cheating banks of Thames — 
Though his waters bathed my infant limbs — 
The Ohio shall wash his stains from me ; 
I was born a slave, but I go to be free. 



YOUNG LOVE. 

RE not the joys of morning sweeter 
Than the joys of night ? 
And are the vigorous joys of youth 
Ashamed of the light ? 

Let age and sickness silent rob 

The vineyard in the night ; 
But those who burn with vigorous youth 

Pluck fruits before the light. 




RICHES. 

llNCE all the riches of this world 

May be gifts from the devil and 
earthly kings, 
I should suspect that I worshiped the 
devil 
If I thanked my God for worldly things. 





168 blake's poems. 

The countless gold of a merry heart. 
The rubies and pearls of a loving eye, 

The idle man never can bring to the mart, 
Nor the cunning hoard up in his treasury. 



OPPORTUNITY. 

E who bends to himself a joy 
Does the winged life destroy ; 
But he who kisses the joy as it flies 
Lives in eternity's sunrise. 

If you trap the moment before it's ripe, 
The tears of repentance you'll certainly wipe ; 
But, if once you let the ripe moment go. 
You can never wipe off the tears of woe. 



SEED-SOWING. 

HOU hast a lapful of seed. 
And this is a fair country. 
Why dost thou not cast thy seed. 
And live in it merrily ? " 

" Shall I cast it on the sand, 

And turn it into fruitful land ? 

For on no other ground can I sow my seed 

Without tearing up some stinking weed." 





169 



BARREN BLOSSOM. 

FEARED the fury of my wind 

Would blight all blossoms fair and 
true; 

And my sun it shined and shined, 
And my wind it never blew. 

But a blossom fair or true 

Was not found on any tree ; 
For all blossoms grew and grew 

Fruitless, false, though fair to see. 



NIGHT AND DAY. 



ILENT, silent Night, 
Quench the holy light 
Of thy torches bright; 



For, possessed of Day, 
Thousand spirits stray 
That sweet joys betray. 

Why should joys be sweet 

Used with deceit, 

Nor with sorrows meet ? 




But an honest joy 
Doth itself destroy 
For a harlot coy. 



170 BLAKE'S POEMS. 



IN A MYRTLE SHADE. 




a lovely myrtle bound, 
Blossoms showering all around, 
Oh how weak and weary I 
Underneath my myrtle lie ! 



Why should I be bound to thee, 
my loYely myrtle-tree ? 
Love, free love, cannot be bound 
To any tree that grows on ground. 



EOR A PICTURE OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. 

Dedication. 

I* HE caverns of the Grave I've seen. 
And these I showed to England's 

Queen ; "• 
But now the caves of Hell I view, — 
Whom shall I dare to show them to ? 
What mighty soul in beauty's form 
Shall dauntless view the infernal storm ? 
Egremont's Countess can control 
The flames of hell that round me roll. 



^ See the Dedication (addressed to Queen Charlotte) of 
the illustrations to Blair's Grave, 




MAMMON. 171 

If she refuse, I still go on, 
Till the heavens and earth are gone ; 
Still admired by noble minds, 
Followed by Envy on the winds. 
Ke-engraved time after time, 
Ever in their youthful prime, 
My designs unchanged remain ; 
Time may rage, but rage in vain ; 
For above Time's troubled fountains, 
On the great Atlantic mountains, 
In my golden house on high, 
There they shine eternally. 




MAMMON. 

ROSE up at the dawn of day. — 
" Get thee away ! get thee away ! 
Pray'st thou for riches ? Away ! away ! 
This is the throne of Mammon grey. " 

Said I : ^^ This, sure, is very odd ; 
I took it to be the throne of God. 
Everything besides I have : 
It's only riches that I can crave. 

^' I have mental joys and mental health, 
Mental friends and mental wealth ; 
I've a wife that I love, and that loves me ; 
I've all but riches bodily. 



172 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

^^ Then, if for riches I must not pray, 
God knows, it's little prayers I need say. 
I am in God's presence night and day ; 
He never turns his face away. 

" The accuser of sins by my side doth stand, 
And he holds my money-bag in his hand ; 
For my wordly things God makes him pay ; 
And he'd pay for more, if to him I would pray. 

" He says, if I worship not him for a god, 
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod ; 
But, as I don't value such things as these. 
You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please." 



FATHEE OF JEALOUSY. 

HY art thou silent and invisible. 
Father of Jealousy ? 
Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds 
From every searching eye ? 



Why darkness and obscurity 
In all thy words and laws, — 

That none dare eat the fruit but from 
The wily serpent's jaws ? 

Or is it because secresy 

Gains females' loud applause ? 





173 



IDOLATRY. 

fF it is true^ what the Prophets write, 
That the Heathen Gods are all stocks 
and stones, 
Shall we, for the sake of being polite, 
Feed them with the juice of our marrow-bones ? 

And, if Bezaleel and Aholiab^ drew 
What the finger of God pointed to their view, 
Shall we suffer the Eoman and Grecian rods 
To compel us to worship them as Gods ? 

They stole them from 

The Temple of the Lord, 
And worshiped them that they might make 

Inspired art abhorred. 

The wood and stone were called the holy things. 
And their sublime intent given to their kings ; 
All the atonements of Jehovah spurned, 
And criminals to sacrifices turned. 



* The artificers of the decorations to the Mosaic taber- 
nacle. See Exodus, chap. 31. 



174 blake's poems. 



THE WILL AND THE WAY. 




ASKED a thief to steal me a peach : 

He turned up his eyes. 
I asked a lithe lady to lie her down ; 

Holy and meek, she cries. 



As soon as I went, 

An Angel came. 
He winked at the thief, 

And smiled at the dame ; 

And, without one word spoke, 
Had a peach from the tree. 

And 'twixt earnest and joke 
Enjoyed the lady. 



THE CRYSTAL CABINET.^ 

HE maiden caught me in the wild, 
Where I was dancing merrily ; 
She put me into her cabinet, 

And locked me up with a golden key. 



1 This poem seems to me to represeot under a very ideal 
form the phsenomena of gestation and birth. Mr. Swinburne 
has suggested a different explanation ; and another again is 
offered in the 2nd volume of Gilchrist's book. 




THE CRYSTAL CABINET. 175> 

This cabinet is formed of gold, 

And pearl and crystal shining bright, 

And within it opens into a world 
And a little lovely moony night. 

Another England there I saw, 
Another London with its Tower, 

Another Thames and other hills, 

And another pleasant Surrey bower. 

Another maiden like herself. 

Translucent, lovely, shining clear, 

Threefold, each in the other closed, — 
Oh what a pleasant trembling fear ! 

Oh what a smile ! A threefold smile 
Filled me that like a flame I burned ; 

I bent to kiss the lovely maid, 

And found a threefold kiss returned.* 

I strove to seize the inmost form 

With ardour fierce and hands of flame, 

But burst the crystal cabinet. 

And like a weeping babe became : 

A weeping babe upon the wild. 
And weeping woman pale reclined. 

And in the outward air again 

I filled with woes the passing wind. 



' See the close of the Vej^ses, p. 133 ; also the passage from 
the Descriptive Catalogue quoted at p. cxxv. of my Prefatory 
Memoir. 



176 blake's poems. 



SMILE AND FROWN. 




HERE is a smile of Love, 

And there is a smile of Deceit, 
And there is a smile of smiles 
In which these two smiles meet. 



And there is a frown of Hate, 
And there is a frown of Disdain, 

And there is a frown of frowns 
Which you strive to forget in vain, 

For it sticks in the heart's deep core 
And it sticks in the deep backbone. 

And no smile ever was smiled 
But only one smile alone 

(And betwixt the cradle and grave 
It only once smiled can be) 

That when it once is smiled 
There's an end to all misery. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

? WAKE, awake, my little boy ! 
Thou wast thy mother's only joy. 
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle 
sleep ? 
Oh wake ! thy father doth thee keep. 




MART. 177 

^^ Oh what land is the land of dreams ? 

What are its mountains and what are its streams?" 

^' Oh father ! I saw my mother there, 

Among the lilies by waters fair. 

^' Among the lambs clothed in white, 

She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight. 

I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn — 

Oh when shall I again return ? " 

^' Dear child ! I also by pleasant streams 
Have wandered all night in the land of dreams ; 
But, though calm and warm the waters wide, 
I could not get to the other side." 

^' Father, father ! what do we here. 
In this land of unbelief and fear ? 
The land of dreams is better far, 
Above the light of the morning star." 



MARY. 

|WEET Mary, the first time she ever 
was there. 
Came into the ball-room among the 
fair; 

The young men and maidens around her throng. 
And these are the words upon every tongue : 




178 blake's poems. 

" An angel is here from the heavenly climes, 
Or again return the golden times; 
Her eyes outshine every brilliant ray, 
She opens her lips — 'tis the month of May." 

Mary moves in soft beauty and conscious delight, 
To augment with sweet smiles all the joys of the 

night, 
Nor once blushes to own to the rest of the fair 
That sweet love and beauty are worthy our care. 

In the morning the villagers rose with delight, 
And repeated with pleasure the joys of the night. 
And Mary arose among friends to be free. 
But no friend from henceforward thou, Mary, shalt 
see* 

Some said she was proud, some called her a whore. 
And some when she passed by shut-to the door ; ^ 
A damp cold came o'er her, her blushes all fled. 
Her lilies and roses are blighted and shed. 

*^ Oh why was I born with a different face ? 
Why was I not born like this envious race ? 
Why did Heaven adorn me with bountiful hand. 
And then set me down in an envious land ? 

" To be weak as a lamb and smooth as a dove. 
And not to raise envy, is called Christian love ; 
But, if you raise envy, your merit's to blame 
For planting such spite in the weak and the tame. 



MARY. 179 

^^ I will humble my beauty, I will not dress fine, 
I will keep from the ball, and my eyes shall not 

shine ; 
And, if any girl's lover forsake her for me, 
I'll refuse him my hand, and from envy be free." 

She went out in the morning attired plain and 

neat; 
" Proud Mary's gone mad," said the child in the 

street ; 
She went out in the morning in plain neat attire, 
And came home in the evening bespattered with 

mire. 

She trembled and wept, sitting on the bedside, 
She forgot it was night, and she trembled and cried; 
She forgot it was night, she forgot it was morn. 
Her soft memory imprinted with faces of scorn; 

With faces of scorn and with eyes of disdain, 
Like foul fiends inhabiting Mary's mild brain ; 
She remembers no face like the human divine ; 
All faces have envy, sweet Mary, but thine. 

And thine is a face of sweet love in despair. 
And thine is a face of mild sorrow and care. 
And thine is a face of wild terror and fear 
That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier. 



^•^:f- 



180 blare's POEMS. 



AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE. 




see a world in a grain of sand, 
And a heaven in a wild flower ; 
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, 
And eternity in an hour. 



A Robin Redbreast in a cage 

Puts all Heaven in a rage ; 

A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons 

Shudders hell through all its regions. 

A dog starved at his master's gate 

Predicts the ruin of the state ; 

A game-cock clipped and armed for fight 

Doth the rising sun afiright ; 

A horse misused upon the road 

Calls to Heaven for human blood. 

Every wolfs and lion's howl 

Raises from hell a human soul ; 

Each outcry of the hunted hare 

A fibre from the brain doth tear ; 

A skylark wounded on the wing 

Doth make a cherub cease to sing. • 

He who shall hurt the little wren 
Shall never be beloved by men; 
He who the ox to wrath has moved 
Shall never be by woman loved ; 
He who shall train the horse to war 
Shall never pass the Polar Bar. 



AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE, 181 

The wanton boy that kills the fly 

Shall feel the spider's enmity ; 

He who torments the chafer's sprite 

Weaves a bower in endless night. 

The caterpillar on the leaf 

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief; 

The wild deer wandering here and there 

Keep the human soul from care : 

The lamb misused breeds public strife, 

And yet forgives the butcher's knife. 

Kill not the moth nor butterfly, 

For the last judgment draweth nigh ; 

The beggar's dog and widow's cat, 

Feed them and thou shalt grow fat. 

Every tear from every eye 

Becomes a babe in eternity ; 

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar, 

Are waves that beat on heaven's shore. ' 

The bat that flits at close of eve 
Has left the brain that won't believe ; 
The owl that calls upon the night 
Speaks the unbeliever's fright. 
The gnat that sings his summer's song 
Poison gets from Slander's tongue ; 
The poison of the snake and newt 
Is the sweat of Envy's foot ; 
The poison of the honey-bee 
Is the artist's jealousy ; 
The strongest poison ever known 
Came from Caesar's laurel- crown. 

Nought can deform the human race 
Like to the armourer's iron brace ; 



182 blake's poems. 

The soldier armed with sword and gun 

Palsied strikes the summer's sun. 

When gold and gems adorn the plough, 

To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. 

The beggar's rags fluttering in air 

Do to rags the heavens tear ; 

The prince's robes and beggar's rags 

Are toadstools on the miser's bags. 

One mite wrung from the labourer's hands 

Shall buy and sell the miser's lands, 

Or, if protected from on high, 

Shall that whole nation sell and buy ; 

The poor man's farthing is worth more 

Than all the gold on Afric's shore. 

The whore and gambler, by the state 

Licensed, build that nation's fate ; 

The harlot's cry from street to street 

Shall weave old England's winding-sheet ; 

,The winner's shout, the loser's curse, 

Shall dance before dead England's hearse. 

He who mocks the infant's faith 
Shall be mocked in age and death ; 
He who shall teach the child to doubt 
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out ; 
He who respects the infant's faith 
Triumphs over hell and death. 
The babe is more than swaddling-bands 
Throughout all these human lands ; 
Tools were made, and born were hands. 
Every farmer understands. 
The questioner who sits so sly 
Shall never know how to reply. 



AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE. 183 

He who replies to words of doubt 
Doth put the light of knowledge out ; 
A puddle, or the cricket's cry, 
Is to doubt a fit reply. 
The child's toys and the old man's reasons 
Are the fruits of the two seasons. 
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile 
Make lame philosophy to smile. 
. A truth that's told with bad intent 
Beats all the lies you can invent. 
He who doubts from what he sees 
Will ne'er believe, do what you please ; 
If the sun and moon should doubt, 
They'd immediately go out. 

Every night and every morn 
Some to misery are born ; 
Every morn and every night 
Some are born to sweet delight ; 
Some are born to sweet delight, 
Some are born to endless night. 
Joy and woe are woven fine, 
A clothing for the soul divine ; 
Under every grief and pine 
Runs a joy with silken twine. 
It is right it should be so ; 
Man was made for joy and woe ; 
And, when this we rightly know. 
Safely through the world we go. 

We are led to believe a lie 

When we see with not through the eye, 

Which was born in a night to perish in a night 

When the soul slept in beams of light. 




184 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

God appears and God is light 
To those poor souls who dwell in night ; 
But doth a human form display- 
To those who dwell in realms of day. 



THE MENTAL TRAVELLER.^ 

1. 

TRAVELLED through a land of men^ 

A land of men and women too ; 
And heard and saw such dreadful 
things 
As cold earth- wanderers never knew. 



1 The following explanation of this remarkable poem was- 
suggested by me in the second volume (where it was first 
published) of Mr. Gilchrist's book. Mr. Swinburne has 
proposed a somewhat different solution : but this one fur- 
nishes some sort of clue, and I repeat it here as better than 
none : — 

" The ' Mental Traveller ' indicates an explorer of mental 
phaenomena. The mental phaenomenon here symbolized 
seems to be the career of any great Idea or intellectual 
movement — as, for instance, Christianity, chivalry, art, &c. 
— represented as going through the stages of — 1, birth ; 2^ 
adversity and persecution ; 3, triumph and maturity ; 4, de- 
cadence through over-ripeness ; 5, gradual transformation^ 
under new conditions, into another renovated Idea, which 
again has to pass through all the same stages. In other 
words, the poem represents the action and re-action of Ideas 
upon society, and of society upon Ideas. 

Argument of the stanzas. 2, The Idea, conceived with pain^ 
is born amid enthusiasm. 3, If of masculine, enduring 
nature, it falls under the control and ban of the already ex- 
isting state of society (the woman old). 5, As the Idea 



THE MENTAL TRAVELLER. 185 

2. 

For there the babe is born in joy- 
That was begotten in dire woe ; 

Just as we reap in joy the fruit 
Which we in bitter tears did sow. 



developes, the old society becomes moulded into a new 
society (the old woman grows young). 6, The Idea, now 
free and dominant, is united to society, as it were in wedlock. 
8, It gradually grows old and effete, living now only upon 
the spiritual treasures laid up in the days of its early energy. 
10, These still subserve many purposes of practical good, 
and outwardly the Idea is in its most flourishing estate, even 
when sapped at its roots. 11, The halo of authority and 
tradition, or prestige, gathering round the Idea, is symbo- 
lized in the resplendent babe born on his hearth. 13, This 
prestige deserts the Idea itself, and attaches to some indi- 
vidual, who usurps the honour due only to the Idea (as we 
may see in the case of papacy, royalty, &c. ) ; and the Idea 
is eclipsed by its own very prestige, and assumed living re- 
presentative. 14, The Idea wanders homeless till it can find 
a new community to mould (" until he can a maiden win''). 
15 to 17, Finding whom, the Idea finds itself also living 
under strangely different conditions. 18, The Idea is now 
*' beguiled to infancy" — becomes a new Idea, in working upon 
a fresh community, and under altered conditions. 20, Nor 
are they yet thoroughly at one ; she flees away while he 
pursues. 22, Here we return to the first state of the case. 
The Idea starts upon a new course — is a babe ; the society 
it works upon has become an old society — no longer a fair 
virgin, but an aged woman. 24, The Idea seems so new* 
and unwonted that, the nearer it is seen, the more conster- 
nation it excites. 26, None can deal with the Idea so as to 
develope it to the full, except the old society with which it 
comes into contact ; and this can deal with it only by mis- 
using it at first, whereby (as in the previous stage, at the 
opening of the poem) it is to be again disciplined into 
ultimate triumph. 



186 blake's poems. 

3. 

And, if the babe is born a boy, 
He's given to a woman old, 

Who nails him down upon a rock, 
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold. 

4. 

She binds iron thorns around his head, 
She pierces both his hands and feet, 

She cuts his heart out at his side. 
To make it feel both cold and heat. 

5. 

Her fingers number every nerve - 
Just as a miser counts his gold ; 

She lives upon his shrieks and cries, 
And she grows young as he grows old. 

6. 
Till he becomes a bleeding youth. 

And she becomes a virgin bright ; 
Then he rends up his manacles, 

And binds her down for his delight. 

7. 
He plants himself in all her nerves 

Just as a husbandman his mould, 
And she becomes his dwelling-place 

And garden fruitful seventyfold. 

8. 
An aged shadow soon he fades. 

Wandering round an earthly cot, 
Full-filled all with gems and gold 

Which he by industry had got. 



THE MENTAL TRAVELLER. 187 

9. 
And these are the gems of the human soul, 

The rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye, 
The countless gold of the aching heart, 

The martyr's groan and the lover's sigh. 

10. 
They are his meat, they are his drink ; 

He feeds the beggar and the poor ; 
To the wayfaring traveller 

For ever open is his door. 

11. 
His grief is their eternal joy, 

They make, the roofs and walls to ring ; 
Till from the fire upon the hearth 

A little female babe doth spring. 

12. 

And she is all of solid fire 

And gems and gold, that none his hand 
Dares stretch to touch her baby form, 

Or wrap her in his swaddling-band. 

13. 

But she comes to the man she loves. 

If young or old or rich or poor ; 
They soon drive out the aged host, 

A beggar at another's door. 

14. 

He wanders weeping far away, 

Until some other take him in ; 
Oft blind and age-bent, sore distressed. 

Until he can a maiden win. 



188 blake's poems. 

15. 

And, to allay his freezing age, 

The poor man takes her in his arms ; 

The cottage fades before his sight, 
The garden and its lovely charms. 

16. 

The guests are scattered through the land ; 

For the eye altering alters all ; 
The senses roll themselves in fear, 

And the flat earth becomes a ball. 

17. 
The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away, 

A desert vast without a bound. 
And nothing left to eat or drink, 

And a dark desert all around. 

18. 
The honey of her infant lips. 

The bread and wine of her sweet smile. 
The wild game of her roving eye. 

Do him to infancy beguile. 

19. 
For as he eats and drinks he grows 

Younger and younger every day. 
And on the desert wild they both 

Wander in terror and dismay. 

20. 
Like the wild stag she flees away ; 

Her fear plants many a thicket wild. 
While he pursues her night and day. 

By various arts of love beguiled ; 



THE MENTAL TRAVELLER. 189 

21. 
By various arts of love and hate, 

Till the wild desert's planted o'er 
With labyrinths of wayward love, 

Where roam the lion, wolf, and boar. 

22. 
Till he becomes a wayward babe, 

And she a weeping woman old ; 
Then many a lover wanders here. 

The sun and stars are nearer rolled ; 

23. 

The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy 

To all who in the desert roam ; 
Till many a city there is built. 

And many a pleasant shepherd's home. 

24. 
But, when they find the frowning babe, 

Terror strikes through the region wide : 
They cry— ^^ The babe — ^the babe is born ! " 

And flee away on every side. 

25, 

For who dare touch the frowning form, 

His arm is withered to its root : 
Bears, lions, wolves, all howling flee, 

And every tree doth shed its fruit. 

26. 
And none can touch that frowning form 

Except it be a woman oM ; 
She nails him down upon the rock. 

And all is done as I have told. 




190 blake's poems. 



WILLIAM BOND. 

WONDEE whether the girls are mad, 
And I wonder whether they mean 
to kill, 
And I wonder if William Bond will die. 
For assuredly he is very ill. 

He went to church on a May morning, 
Attended by fairies, one, two, and three ; 

But the angels of Providence drove them away, 
And he returned home in misery. 

He went not out to the field nor fold. 
He went not out to the village nor town, 

But he came home in a black black cloud, 
And took to his bed, and there lay down. 

And an angel of Providence at his feet, 
And an angel of Providence at his head. 

And in the midst a black black cloud. 

And in the midst the sick man on his bed. 

And on his right hand was Mary Green, 
And on his left hand was his sister Jane, 

And their tears fell through the black black cloud 
To drive away the sick man's pain. 

^' Oh William, if thou dost another love, 
Dost another love better than poor Mary, 

Go and take that other to be thy wife. 
And Mary Green shall her servant be.'' 



WILLIAM BOND. 191 

'^ Yes, Mary, I do another love, 

Another I love far better than thee, 

And another I will have for my wife : 
Then what have I to do with thee ? 

^' For thou art melancholy pale, 

And on thy head is the cold moon's shine^, 
But she is ruddy and bright as day. 

And the sunbeams dazzle from her eyne." 

Mary trembled, and Mary chilled, 

And Mary fell down on the right-hand floor^ 
That William Bond and his sister Jane 

Scarce could recover Mary more. 

When Mary woke and found her laid 
On the right hand of her William dear, 

On the right hand of his loved bed. 
And saw her William Bond so near ; 

The fairies that fled from William Bond 

Danced around her shining head ; 
They danced over the pillow white, 

And the angels of Providence left the bed. 

'' I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine, 
But oh he lives in the moony light ! 

I thought to find Love in the heat of day. 
But sweet Love is the comforter of night. 

" Seek Love in the pity of others' woe. 
In the gentle relief of another's care. 

In the darkness of night and the winter's snow, 
With the naked and outcast, — seek Love there. '^ 



COUPLETS AND FRAGMENTS. 



I. 

WALKED abroad on a snowy day, 
I asked the soft Snow with me to play; 
She played and she melted in all her 
prime ; 
And the Winter called it a dreadful crime. 




II. 




BSTINENCE sows sand all over 

The ruddy limbs and flaming hair ; 
But desire gratified 

Plants fruits of life and beauty there. 



III. 

^^^^HE look of love alarms, 
sSSj^Mi Because 'tis filled with fire, 
^^^^ But the look of soft deceit 

Shall win the lover's hire ; 
Soft deceit and idleness, 
These are beauty's sweetest dress. 



m 



COUPLETS AND FRAGMENTS. 193 



TV, 




Chloe's breast young Cupid slily stole, 
But he crept in at Myra's pocket-hole. 



V. 




ROWN old in love from seven till seven 
times seven, 
I oft have wished for hell, for ease from 
heaven. 



VI. 




'HE Sword sang on the barren heath, 
The Sickle in the fruitful field: 
The Sword he sang a song of death, 
But could not make the Sickle yield. 



VII. 




EEAT things are done when men and 
mountains meet ; 
These are not done by jostling in the 
street. 



vni. 




i/HE errors of a wise man make your rule, 
Rather than the perfections of a fool. 



194 blake's poems. 



IX. 





pOME people admire the work of a fool, 
For it's sure to keep your judgment cool : 
It does not reproach you with want of wit ; 
It is not like a lawyer serving a writ. 



E'S a blockhead who wants a proof of what 
he can't perceive, 
And he's a fool who tries ta make such a 
blockhead believe. 



XIc 



?F e'er I grow to man's estate. 
Oh give to me a woman's fate ! 
May I govern all, both great and small. 
Have the last word, and take the wall I 



xn. 

ER whole life is an epigram — smack, 
smooth, and nobly penned, 
Plaited quite neat to catch applause, with 
a strong noose at the end. 







COUPLETS AND FRAGMENTS. 195 

XIII. 

An Answer to the Paeson. 

HY of the sheep do you not learn peace? " 
" Because I don't want you to shear my 
fleece." 

XIY. 

fflE Angel that presided o'er my birth 
Said ; ^' Little creature, formed of joy and 
g^ mirth, 

Go, live without the help of anything on earth." 

xv» 

Keason. 

;0U don't believe I would attempt to make 
you: 
You are asleep, — I won't attempt to wake 
you. 
Sleep on, sleep on ; while in your pleasant dreams 
Of Reason, you may drink of Life's clear streams. 
Reason and Newton, they are quite two things ; 
For so the swallow and the sparrow sings. 
Reason says " Miracle : " Newton says " Doubt : " 
Ay, that's the way to make all Nature out ! 
Doubt, doubt, and don't believe without experiment. 
That is the very thing that Jesus meant. 
When he said, '' Only believe, — believe, and try :" 
Try, try, and never mind the reason why. 





196 blake's poems. 



XVI. 

Friends and Foes. 

,T a friend's errors anger show, 
Mirth at the errors of a foe. 
Anger and wrath my bosom rends : 
I thought them the errors of friends. 
But all my limbs with warmth glow : 
I find them the errors of the foe. 

XYII. 

) ERE lies John Trot, the friend of all man- 
kind; 
He has not left one enemy behind. 
Friends were quite hard to find, old authors say ; 
But now they stand in everybody's way. 

xvin. 

WAS buried near this dyke, 
That my friends may weep as much as they 
like. 

XIX. 

Blake's Feiends, 

OR this is being a friend just in the nick, — 
Not when he's well, but waiting till he's 
sick. 






COUPLETS AND FRAGMENTS. 197 

He calls you to his help ; be you not moved, 
Until by being sick his wants are proved. 

You see him spend his soul in prophecy : 
Do you believe it a confounded lie, 
Till some bookseller and the public fame 
Prove there is truth in his extravagant claim. 

For 'tis atrocious in a friend you love 
To tell you anything that he can't prove : 
And 'tis most wicked, in a Christian nation, 
For any one to pretend to inspiration. 



XX. 

^^^ALSE friends, fie, fie ! our friendship you 
shan't sever : 
In spite, we will be greater friends than 
ever. 

XXI. 

Ojsr Hatley. 

1. 

forgive enemies Hayley does pretend, 
Who never in his life forgave a friend. 



2. 

HY friendship oft has made my heart to 
ache ; — 
Do be my enemy, for friendship's sake. 






198 BLAKE'S POEMS. 



Y title as a genius thus is proved : 
Not praised by Hayley, nor by Flaxman 
loved. 



iF Hayley's birth this was the happy lot : 
His mother on his father him begot. 



XXII. 

Cromek. 

PETTY sneaking knave I knew . . . 
Oh, Mr. Cromek, how do ye do ? 

xxm. 

RAYERS plough not, praises reap not, 
Joys laugh not, sorrows weep not. 






199 




EPIGRAMS AND SATIRICAL PIECES 

ON ART AND ARTISTS. 

I. 

Oeator Peio. 

ASKED of my dear friend orator Prig : 
" What's the first part of oratory?" He 

said : " A great wig." 
" And what is the second ? " Then, 
dancing a jig 
And bowing profoundly, he said : " A great wig." 
" And what is the third?" Then he snored like a 

pig, 
And, puffing his cheeks out, replied : ^^ A great wig." 
So, if to a painter the question you push, 
" What's the first part of painting ?" he'll say : " A 

paint-brush." 
"And what is the second?" With most modest 

blush, 
He'll smile like a cherub, and say: " A paint-brush." 
" And what is the third ? " He'll bow like a rush, 
With a leer in his eye, and reply : '^ A paint-brush." 
Perhaps this is all a painter can want : 
But look yonder, — that house is the house of 

Rembrandt. 




200 blake's poems. 



DEAR mother Outline, of wisdom most 
f(2l^ sage, 

What's the first part of painting ? '' She 
said: "Patronage." 
"And what is the second to please and engage?" 
She frowned like a fury, and said : " Patronage.'^ 
" And what is the third?" She put off old age, 
And smiled like a siren, and said : " Patronage." 



III. 

OME look to see the sweet outlines 
And beauteous forms that Love does wear: 
Some look to find out patches, paint. 
Bracelets and stays and powdered hair. 

IV. 

On" the Venetian Painteb. 

E makes the lame to walk, we all agree ; 
But then he strives to blind all who can 
see! 

V. 

To Venetian Aktists. 

HAT God is colouring Newton does show ; 
And the Devil is a black outline, all of us 
know. 






EPIGRAMS. 201 

Perhaps this little fable may make us merry. 
A dog went over the water without a wherry. 
A bone which he had stolen he had in his mouth : 
He cared not whether the wind was north or 

south. 
As he swam, he saw the reflection of the bone : 
*^This is quite perfection, one generalizing tone! — 
Outline ? There's no outline, there's no such thing : 
All is chiaroscuro, poco-pen, — it's all colouring ! " — 
Snap, snap ! He has lost shadow, and substance 

too! 
He had them both before. — " Now how do ye do ? " 
*^ A great deal better than I was before : 
Those who taste colouring love it more and more." 



VI. 

CoLorR AND Form. 

|ALL that the public voice which is their 
error ? 
Like as a monkey, peeping in a mirror, 
Admires all his colours brown and warm, 
And never once perceives his ugly form. 



vn. 

(HANK God, I never was sent to school. 
To be flogged into following the style of 
a fool ! 






202 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

vin. 
Ojs" ceetain- Feiei^-ds. 

FOUND them blind, I taught them how 

to see, 
And now they know neither themselves 

nor me. 

IX. 

On the Gee at Encofeagement given by Eng- 
lish NOEILITY AND GeNTET TO CoEEEOGIO, 

Rubens, Rembeanbt, Reynolds, Gains- 

BOEOUGH, CaTALANI, AND DiLBEEEY DoODLE. 

^IVE pensions to the learned pig. 
Or the hare playing on a tabor ; 
Anglns can never see perfection 
But in the journeyman's labour. 

"As the ignorant savage will sell his own wife 
For a button, a bauble, a bead, or a knife, — 
So the taught savage Englishman spends his whole 

fortune 
On a smear or a squall to destroy picture or tune : 
And I call upon Colonel Wardle 
To give these rascals a dose of caudle. 

All pictures that's painted with sense or with 

thought 
Are painted by madmen, as sure as a groat ; 
For the greater the fool, in the Art the more blest, 





EPIGRAMS. 203 

And when they are drunk they always paint best. 
They never can Raphael it, Fuseli it, nor Blake it : 
If they can't see an outline, pray how can they 

make it? 
All men have drawn outlines whenever they saw 

them; 
Madmen see outlines, and therefore they drawthem. 



>EEING a Rembrandt or Correggio, 
Of crippled Harry I think and slobbering 
Joe ; 

And then I question thus : Are artists' rules 
To be drawn from the works of two manifest fools ? 
Then God defend us from the Arts, I say ; 
For battle, murder, sudden death, let's pray. 
Rather than be such a blind human fool, 
I'd be an ass, a hog, a worm, a chair, a stool. 



XI. 
To ElS^OLISH CONNOISSETJKS. 

|0U must agree that Rubens was a fool, 
And yet you make him master of your 
school. 

And give more money for his slobberings 
Than you will give for Raphael's finest things. 
I understood Christ was a carpenter. 
And not a brewer's servant, my good sir. 





204 Blake's poems. 

xn. 

Raphael and Rubens. 

|ATURE and art in this together suit — 
What is most grand is always most 
minute : — 

Rubens think tables, chairs, and stools, are grand ; 
But Raphael thinks a head, a foot, a hand. 
Raphael, sublime, majestic, graceful, wise, 
His executive power must I despise ! 
Rubens, low, vulgar, stupid, ignorant. 
His power of execution I must grant, — 
Learn the laborious stumble of a fool, 
And from an idiot's actions form my rule ! 
Go send your children to the slobbering-school ! 

xm. 

^IR Joshua praises Michael Angelo ; 
'Tis Christian meekness thus to praise a 
foe :— 

But 'twould be madness, all the world would say, 
Should Michael Angelo praise Sir Joshua. 
Christ used the Pharisees in a rougher way. 

xrv. 

COLOTJE. 

^0 real style of colouring ever appears, 
But advertizing in the newspapers. 
Look there — you'll see Sir Joshua's 
colouring : 
Look at his pictures — all has taken wing. 







EPIGRAMS. 205 

xy. 
FrsELi. 

ijHE only man that ever I knew 
Who did not make me almost spue 
Was Fuseli : he was both Turk and Jew. 
And so, dear Christian friends, how do you do ? 

XVI. 

To Flaxman. 

\ OU call me mad ; 'tis folly to do so, — 
To seek to turn a madman to a foe. 
If you think as you speak, you are an ass; 
If you do not, you are but what you was. 

xvn. 
To THE Same. 

MOCK thee not, though I by thee am 

mocked ; 
Thou call'st me madman, but I call thee 

blockhead. 

XVIII. 

On Stothaed. 

^OU say reserve and modesty he has. 
Whose heart is iron, his head wood, and 
his face brass. 
The fox, the owl, the spider, and the bat, 
By sweet reserve and modesty grow fat. 





206 



blare's poems. 




XIX. 

iHEN nations grow old 
The Arts grow cold, 
And Commerce settles on every tree ; 
And the poor and the old 
Can live upon gold, 
For all are born poor. 

Aged sixty-three. 





TIEIEL. 



^ND aged Tiriel stood before the gates 
of his beautiful palace, 
With Myratana, once the Queen of all 
the western plains ; 
But now his eyes were darkened, and his wife 

fading in death. 
They stood before their once delightful palace ; and 

thus the voice 
Of aged Tiriel arose, that his sons might hear in 
their gates. 

" Accursed race of Tiriel ! behold your father ; 
Come forth and look on her that bore you. Come, 

you accursed sons. 
In my weak arms I here have borne your dying 

mother ; 
Come forth, sons of the curse, come forth ! see the 

death of Myratana." 

His sons ran from their gates, and saw their aged 

parents stand : 
And thus the eldest son of Tiriel raised his mighty 

voice : — 



208 Blake's poems. 

" Old man ! unworthy to be called the father of 
TirieFs race ! 

For every one of those thy wrinkles, each of 
those grey hairs, 

Are cruel as death, and as obdurate as the devour- 
ing pit ! 

Why should thy sons care for thy curses, thou 
accursed man ? 

Were we not slaves till we rebelled ? Who cares 
for Tiriel's curse ? 

His blessing was a cruel curse ; his curse may be 
a blessing." 

He ceased. The aged man raised up his right 

hand to the heavens ; 
His left supported Myratana, shrinking in pangs 

of death. 
The orbs of his large eyes he opened, and thus his 

voice went forth : — 



" Serpents, not sons, wreathing around the bones 

of Tiriel ! 
Ye worms of death, feasting upon your aged 

parents' flesh, 
Listen, and hear your mother's groans. No more 

accursed sons 
She bears ; she groans not at the birth of Heuxos 

or Yuva. 
These are the groans of death, ye serpents ! these 

are the groans of death ! 
Nourished with milk, ye serpents, nourished with 

mother's tears and cares ! 



TIJEIIEL. 209 

Look at my eyes, blind as the orbless skull among 

the stones ; 
Look at my bald head. Hark, listen, ye serpents, 

listen ! . . . . 
What, Myratana ! What, my wife ! soul ! spirit ! 

fire! 
What, Myratana, art thou dead? Look here, ye 

serpents, look ! 
The serpents sprung from her own bowels have 

drained her dry as this. 
Curse on your ruthless heads, for I will bury her 

even here ! '' 

So saying, he began to dig a grave with his aged 

hands ; 
But Heuxos called a son of Zazel to dig their 

mother a grave. 

^^Old cruelty, desist, and let us dig a grave for thee. 
Thou hast refused our charity, thou hast refused 

our food. 
Thou hast refused our clothes, our beds, our houses 

for thy dwelling, 
Choosing to wander like a son of Zazel in the rocks. 
Why dost thou curse ? Is not the curse now come 

upon thine head ? 
Was it not thou enslaved the sons of Zazel? and 

they have cursed. 
And now thou feeFst it ! Dig a grave, and let tis 

bury our mother.'^ 

'' There, take the body, cursed sons ! and may the 
heavens rain wrath, 
p 



210 blake's poems. 

As thick as northern fogs, around your gates, to 

choke you up ! 
That you may lie as now your mother lies — like 

dogs, cast out. 
The stink of your dead carcases annoying man and 

beast. 
Till your white bones are bleached with age for a 

memorial. 
No ! your remembrance shall perish ; for, when your 

carcases 
Lie stinking on the earth, the buriers shall arise 

from the East, 
And not a bone of all the sons of Tiriel remain. 
Bury your mother, but you cannot bury the curse 

of Tiriel." 

He ceased, and darkling o'er the mountains sought 
his pathless way. 



II. 

^E wandered day and night. To him both 
day and night were dark: 
The sun he felt, but the bright moon was 
now a useless globe. 
O'er mountains and through vales of woe the blind 

and aged man 
Wandered, till he that leadeth all led him to the 
vales of Har. 

And Har and Heva, like two children, sat beneath 
the oak. 




TIRIEL. 211 

Mnetha, now aged, waited on them, and brought 

them food and clothing. 
But they were as the shadow of Har, and as the 

years forgotten ; 
Playing with flowers and running after birds they 

spent the day, 
And in the night like infants slept, delighted with 

infant dreams. 

Soon as the blind wanderer entered the pleasant 

gardens of Har, 
They ran weeping, like frighted infants, for refuge 

in Mnetha's arms. 
The blind man felt his way, and cried: ^^ Peace to 

these open doors ! 
Let no one fear, for poor blind Tiriel hurts none 

but himself. 
Tell me, friends, where am I now, and in what 

pleasant place?" 

^' This is the valley of Har," said Mnetha, '^ and 

this the tent of Har. 
Who art thou, poor blind man, that takest the 

name of Tiriel on thee? 
Tiriel is King of all the West. Who art thou ? 

I am Mnetha ; 
And this is Har and Heva, trembling like infants 

by my side." 

^' I know Tiriel is King of the West, and there he 

lives in joy. 
No matter who I am, Mnetha ! If thou hast any 

food. 



212 blake's poems. 

Give it me, for I cannot stay, — my journey is far 
from hence." 

Then Har said : ^^ my mother Mnetha, venture 

not so near him, 
For he is the king of rotten wood, and of the 

bones of death ; 
He wanders without eyes, and passes through 

thick walls and doors. 
Thou shalt not smite my mother Mnetha, thou 

eyeless man !" 

^' A wanderer, I beg for food. You see I cannot 

weep. 
I cast away my stafif, the kind companion of m)^ 

travel. 
And I kneel down that you may see I am a 

harmless man.'' 

He kneeled down. And Mnetha said: ^^Come^ 

Har and Heva, rise : 
He is an innocent old man, and hungry with \m 

travel." 

Then Har arose, and laid his hand upon old TirieFs 
head. 

"God bless thy poor bald pate, God bless thy 

hollow winking eyes, 
God bless thy shrivelled beard, God bless thy 

many- wrinkled forehead ! 
Thou hast no teeth, old man ! and thus I kiss thy 

sleek bald head. 



TIRIEL. 213 

Heva, come kiss his bald head, for he will not 
hurt us, Heva." 

Then Heva came, and took old Tiriel in her 
mother's arms. 

*^ Bless thy poor eyes, old man, and bless the old 

father of Tiriel ! 
Thou art my Tiriel's old father; I know thee 

through thy wrinkles, 
Because thou smellest like the fig-tree, thou 

smellest like ripe figs. 
How didst thou lose thy eyes, old Tiriel ? Bless 

thy wrinkled face ! " 

Mnetha said : ^^ Come in, aged wanderer ; tell us 

of thy name. 
Why shouldst thou conceal thyself from those of 

thine own flesh?" 

^^I am not of this region," said Tiriel dissem- 

blingly. 
^' I am an aged wanderer, once father of a race 
Far in the North; but they were wicked, and 

were all destroyed. 
And I their father sent an outcast. I have told 

you all : 
Ask me no more, I pray, for grief hath sealed my 

precious sight." 

'' Lord !" said Mnetha, '' how I tremble ! Are 
there then more people. 



23.4 blake's poems. 

More human creatures on this earth, beside the 
sons of Har?" 

" No more/' said Tiriel, " but I, remain on all this 

globe ; 
And I remain an outcast. Hast thou anything 

to drink?'' 

Then Mnetha gave him milk and fruits, and they 
sat down together. 



III. 

HEY sat and ate, and Har and Heva 
smiled on Tiriel. 



"Thou art a very old old man, but I am older 

than thou. 
How came thine hair to leave thy forehead, how 

came thy face so brown ? 
My hair is very long, my beard doth cover all my 

breast. 
God bless thy piteous face ! To count the wrinkles 

in thy face 
Would puzzle Mnetha. Bless thy face, for thou 

art Tiriel!" 

*' Tiriel I never saw but once. I sat with him 

and ate ; 
He was as cheerful as a prince, and gave me 

entertainment. 




TIRIEL. 215 

But long I stayed not at his palace, for I am 
forced to wander." 

"What! wilt thou leave us too?'^ said Heva. 

'' Thou shalt not leave us too. 
For we have many sports to show thee, and many 

songs to sing ; 
And after dinner we will walk into the cage of Har, 
And thou shalt help us to catch birds, and gather 

them ripe cherries ; 
Then let thy name be Tiriel, and never leave us 

more." 

" If thou dost gb," said Har, " I wish thine eyes 

may see thy folly. 
My sons have left me. — Did thine leave thee? 

Oh 'twas very cruel ! " 

"No, venerable man," said Tiriel, "ask me not 

such things, 
For thou dost make my heart to bleed. My sons 

were not like thine, 
But worse. Oh never ask me more, or I must 

flee away." 

" Thou shalt not go," said Heva, " till thou hast 

seen our singing-birds. 
And heard Har sing in the great cage, and slept 

upon our fleeces. 
Go not, for thou art so like Tiriel that I love 

thine head. 
Though it is wrinkled like the earth parched with 

the summer heat." 



216 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Then Tiriel rose up from the seat, and said: '^God 

bless these tents ! 
My journey is o'er rocks and mountains, not in 

pleasant vales ; 
I must not sleep nor rest, because of madness and 

dismay." 

And Mnetha said : ^' Thou must not go to wander 

dark alone, 
But dwell with us, and let us be to thee instead 

of eyes, 
And I will bring thee food, old man, till death 

shall call thee hence." 

Then Tiriel frowned, and answered : " Did I not 

command you, saying, 
Madness and deep dismay possess the heart of the 

blind man. 
The wanderer who seeks the woods, leaning upon 

his staff?" 

Then Mnetha, trembling at his frowns, led him to 

the tent-door. 
And gave to him his staff, and blessed him. He 

went on his way. 

But Har and Heva stood and watched him till he 

entered the wood ; 
And then they went and wept to Mnetha, but they 

soon forgot their tears. 




TIRIEL. 217 

IT. 

^VER the weary hills the blind man took 
his lonely way ; 
To him the day and night alike was dark 
and desolate. 
But far he had not gone when Ijim from his 

woods came down, ' 

Met him at entrance of the forest, in a dark and 
lonely way. 

^'Who art thou, eyeless wretch, that thus ob- 

structest the lion's path ? 
Ijim shall rend thy feeble joints, thou tempter of 

dark Ijim ! 
Thou hast the form of Tiriel, but I know thee 

well enough ! 
Stand from my path, foul fiend ! Is this the last of 

thy deceits — 
To be a hypocrite, and stand in shape of a blind 

beggar?" 

The blind man heard his brother's voice, and 
kneeled down on his knee. 

^' brother Ijim, if it is thy voice that speaks to 

me, — 
Smite not thy brother Tiriel, though weary of his 

life. 
My sons have smitten me already; and, if thou 

smitest me. 
The curse that rolls over their heads will rest 

itself on thine. 



218 blake's poems. 

'Tis now seven years since in my palace I beheld 
thy face/' 

" Come, thou dark fiend, I dare thy cunning! know 

that Ijim scorns 
To smite thee in the form of helpless age and 

eyeless policy ; 
Eise up, for I discern thee, and I dare thy eloquent 

tongue. 
Come, I will lead thee on thy way, and use thee 

as a scoff." 

'' brother Ijim, thou beholdest wretched Tiriel : 
Kiss me, my brother, and then leave me to wander 
desolate!" 

" No, artful fiend, but I will lead thee ; dost thou 

want to go ? 
Eeply not, lest I bind thee with the green flags of 

the brook ; 
Ay, now thou art discovered, I will use thee like 

a slave." 

When Tiriel heard the words of Ijim, he sought 

not to reply : 
He knew 'twas vain, for Ijim's words were as the 

voice of Fate. 

And they went on together, over hills, through 

woody dales. 
Blind to the pleasures of the sight, and deaf to 

warbling birds. 



TIRIEL. 219 

All day they walked, and all the night beneath the 

pleasant moon, 
Westwardly journeying, till Tiriel grew weary with 

his travel. 

"0 Ijim, I am faint and weary, for my knees 

forbid 
To bear me further. Urge me not, lest I should 

die with travel. 
A little rest I crave, a little water from a brook, 
Or I shall soon discover that I am a mortal man. 
And thou wilt lose thy once-loved Tiriel. Alas ! 

how faint I am ! " 

"Impudent fiend !" said Ijim, "hold thy glib and 

eloquent tongue ; — 
Tiriel is a king, and thou the tempter of dark 

Drink of this running brook, and I will bear thee 
on my shoulders." 

He drank ; and Ijim raised him up, and bore him 

on his shoulders. 
All day he bore him ; and, when evening drew 

her solemn curtain. 
Entered the gates of Tiriel's palace, and stood and 

called aloud. 

" Heuxos, come forth ! I here have brought the 

fiend that troubles Ijim. 
Look ! know'st thou aught of this grey beard, or 

of these blinded eyes ? '' 



220 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

Heuxos and Lotho ran forth at the sound of 

Ijim's voice, 
And saw their aged father borne upon his mighty 

shoulders. 
Their eloquent tongues were dumb, and sweat 

stood on their trembling limbs ; 
They knew 'twas vain to strive with Ijim. They 

bowed and silent stood. 

'' What, Heuxos ! call thy father, for I mean to 

sport to-night. 
This is the hypocrite that sometimes roars a 

dreadful lion ; 
Then I have rent his limbs, and left him rotting 

in the forest 
For birds to eat. But I have scarce departed from 

the place 
But like a tiger he would come, and so I rent him 

too. 
Then like a river he would seek to drown me in 

his waves, 
But soon I buffeted the torrent ; anon like to a 

cloud 
Fraught with the swords of lightning, but I braved 

the vengeance too. 
Then he would creep like a bright serpent, till 

around my neck 
While I was sleeping he would twine ; I squeezed 

his poisonous soul. 
Then like a toad or like a newt would whisper in 

my ears ; 
Or like a rock stood in my way, or like a poisonous 

shrub. 



TIRIEL. 221 

At last I caught him in the form of Tiriel blind 

and old, 
And so I'll keep him. Fetch your father, fetch 

forth Myratana.'^ 

They stood confounded, and thus Tiriel raised his 
silver voice. 

" Serpents, not sons, why do you stand ? Fetch 
hither Tiriel, 

Fetch hither Myratana, and delight yourselves 
with scoffs ; 

For poor blind Tiriel is returned, and this much- 
injured head 

Is ready for your bitter taunts. Come forth, sons 
of the curse !" 

Meantime the other sons of Tiriel ran around 

their father. 
Confounded at the terrible strength of Ijim. They 

knew 'twas vain, 
Both spear and shield were useless, and the coat 

of iron mail. 
When Ijim stretched his mighty arm ; the arrow 

from his limbs 
Rebounded, and the piercing sword broke on hi& 

naked flesh. 

" Then is it true, Heuxos, that thou hast turned 

thy aged parent 
To be the sport of wintry winds,'' said Ijim : ^^is 

this true? 
It is a lie, and I am like the tree torn by the wind. 



222 blake's poems. 

Thou eyeless fiend and you dissemblers ! Is this 

Tiriel's house ? 
It is as false as Matha, and as dark as vacant 

Orcus. 
Escape, ye fiends, for Ijim will not lift his hand 

against ye." 

So saying, Ijim gloomy turned his back, and 

silent sought 
The secret forests, and all night wandered in 

desolate ways. 



Y. 

^^^^ND aged Tiriel stood and said : ^^ Where 

mI^^ does the thunder sleep ? 

^^^)^ Where doth he hide his terrible head ? 

and his swift and fiery daughters. 
Where do they shroud their fiery wings, and the 

terrors of their hair ? 
Earth, thus I stamp thy bosom ! rouse the earth- 
quake from his den. 
To raise his dark and burning visage through the 

cleaving ground. 
To thrust these towers with his shoulders ! Let 

his fiery dogs 
Eise from the centre, belching flames and roaring 

dark smoke ! 
Where art thou, Pestilence, that bathest in fogs 

and standing lakes ? 
Raise up thy sluggish limbs, and let the loath- 

somest of poisons 



TIRIEL. 223 

Drop from thy garments as thou walkest, wrapped 

in yellow clouds ! 
Here take thy seat in this wide court ; let it be 

strewn with dead ; 
And sit and smile upon these cursed sons of Tiriel! 
Thunder, and fire, and pestilence, hear you not 

Tiriel's curse?" 

He ceased. The heavy clouds confused rolled 
round the lofty towers, 

Discharging their enormous voices at the father's 
curse. 

The earth trembled, fires belched from the yawn- 
ing clefts. 

And, when the shaking ceased, a fog possessed 
the accursed clime. 

The cry was great in Tiriel's palace. His five 

daughters ran. 
And caught him by the garments, weeping with 

cries of bitter woe. 

'^ Ay, now you feel the curse, you cry ! but may 

all ears be deaf 
As Tiriel's, and all eyes as blind as Tiriel's, to your 

woes ! 
May never stars shine on your roofs, may never 

sun nor moon 
Visit you, but eternal fogs hover around your 

walls ! — 
Hela, my youngest daughter, thou shalt lead me 

from this place ; 



224 BLAKE'S POEMS. 

And let the curse fall on the rest, and wrap them 
up together !'' 

He ceased, and Hela led her father from the 
noisome place. 

In haste they fled, while all the sons and daughters 
of Tiriel, 

Chained in thick darkness, uttered cries of mourn- 
ing all the night. 

And in the morning, lo ! an hundred men in 
ghastly death, 

The four daughters, stretched on the marble pave- 
ment, silent, all 

Fallen by the pestilence, — the rest moped round in 
guilty fears ; 

And all the children in their beds were cut off in 
one night. 

Thirty of Tiriel's sons remained, to wither in the 
palace — 

Desolate, loathed, dumb, astonished — waiting for 
black death. 



VI. 

,ND Hela led her father through the silence 
of the night. 
Astonished, silent, till the morning beams 
began to spring. 

^' Now,Hela,I can go with pleasure, and dwell with 

Har and Heva, 
Now that the curse shall clean devour all those 

guilty sons. 




(^ 



TIRIEL. 225 

This is the right and ready way; I know it by the 

sound 
That our feet make. Remember, Hela, I have 

saved thee from death ; 
Then be obedient to thy father, for the curse is 

taken off thee. 
I dwelt with Myratana five years in the desolate 

rock; 
And all that time we waited for the fire to fall 

from heaven, 
Or for the torrents of the sea to overwhelm you 

all. 
But now my wife is dead, and all the time of grace 

is past. 
You see the parents' curse. Now lead me where I 

have commanded." 

'' leagued with evil spirits, thou accursed man of 

sin, — 
True, I was born thy slave. Who asked thee to 

save me from death ? 
'Twas for thyself, thou cruel man, because thou 

wantest eyes." 

"True, Hela, this is the desert of all those cruel 

ones. 
Is Tiriel cruel? Look! his daughter — and his 

youngest daughter — 
Laughs at affection, glories in rebellion, scoffs at 

love. 
I have not ate these two days ; lead me to Har 

and Heva's tent, 
a 



226 blake's poems. 

Or I will wrap thee up in such a terrible father's 

curse 
That thou shalt feel worms in thy marrow creeping 

through thy bones ; 
Yet thou shalt lead me. Lead me, I command, to 

Har and Heva." 

*' cruel ! destroyer ! consumer ! avenger ! 
To Har and Heva I will lead thee ; then would 

that they would curse, — 
Then would they curse as thou hast cursed ! But 

they are not like thee ! 
Oh they are holy and forgiving, filled with loving 

mercy, 
Forgetting the offences of their most rebellious 

children, 
Or else thou wouldest not have lived to curse thy 

helpless children." 

" Look on my eyes, Hela, and see (for thou hast 
eyes to see) 

The tears swell from my stony fountains; where- 
fore do I weep? 

Wherefore from my blind orbs art thou not seized 
with poisonous stings ? 

Ijaugh, serpent, youngest venomous reptile of the 
flesh of Tiriel ! 

Laugh, for thy father Tiriel shall give thee cause 
to laugh, 

Unless thou lead me to the tent of Har, child of 
the curse ! " 

" Silence thy evil tongue, thou murderer of thy 
helpless children. 



TIRIEL. 227 

I lead thee to the tent of Har : not that I mind 

thy curse, 
But that I feel they will curse thee, and hang 

upon thy bones 
Fell shaking agonies, and in each wrinkle of that 

face 
Plant worms of death to feast upon the tongue of 

terrible curses ! " 

^^ Hela, my daughter, listen ! Thou art the daugh- 
ter of Tiriel. 

Thy father calls. Thy father lifts his hand unto 
the heavens, 

For thou hast laughed at my tears, and cursed thy 
aged father : 

Let snakes rise from thy bedded locks, and laugh 
among thy curls ! " 

He ceased. Her dark hair upright stood, while 

snakes infolded round 
Her madding browns : her shrieks appalled the 

soul of Tiriel. 

^' What have I done, Hela, my daughter? Fear'st 

thou now the curse, 
Or wherefore dost thou cry? Ah wretch, to 

curse thy aged father ! 
Lead me to Har and Heva, and the curse of Tiriel 
Shall fail. If thou refuse, howl in the desolate 

mountains." 




228 blake's poems. 

YII. 

^HE, howling, led him over mountains and 
i^ through frighted vales, 

Till to the eaves of Zazel they approached 
at eventide. 

Forth from their eaves old Zazel and his sons ran, 

when they saw 
Their tyrant prince blind, and his daughter howling 

and leading him. 

They laughed and mocked ; some threw dirt and 

stones as they passed by. 
But, when Tiriel turned around and raised his 

awful voice, 
Some fled away; but Zazel stood still, and thus 

began ; — 

^^ Bald tyrant, wrinkled cunning, listen to ZazeFs 

chains; 
'Twas thou that chained thy brother Zazel ! 

Where are now thine eyes ? 
Shout, beautiful daughter of Tiriel ; thou singest a 

sweet song ! 
Where are you going ? Come and eat some roots, 

and drink some water. 
Thy crown is bald, old man ; the sun will dry thy 

brains away. 
And thou wilt be as foolish as thy foolish brother 

Zazel." 

The blind man heard, and smote his breast, and 
trembling passed on. 



TIRIEL. 229 

They threw dirt after them, till to the covert of a 

wood 
The howling maiden led her father, where wild 

beasts resort, 
Hoping to end her woes ; but from her cries the 

tigers fled. 
All night they wandered through the wood ; and, 

when the sun arose, 
They entered on the mountains of Har. At noon 

the happy tents 
Were frighted by the dismal cries of Hela on the 

mountains. 

But Har and Heva slept fearless as babes on 
loving breasts. 

Mnetha awoke ; she ran and stood at the tent- 
door, and saw 

The aged wanderer led towards the tents. She 
took her bow, 

And chose her arrows, then advanced to meet the 
terrible pair. 



VIII. 

§ND Mnetha hasted, and met them at the 
gate of the lower garden. 

" Stand still, or from my bow receive a sharp and 
winged death !" 

Then Tiriel stood, saying: "What soft voice 
threatens such bitter things ? 




230 blake's poems. 

Lead me to Har and Heva : I am Tiriel, King of 
the West." 



And Mnetha led them to the tent of Har; and 

Har and Heva 
Ean to the door. When Tiriel felt the ankles of 

aged Har, 
He said: ''O weak mistaken father of a lawless 

race, 
Thy laws, Har, and TirieFs wisdom, end together 

in a curse. 
Why is one law given to the lion and the patient ox, 
And why men bound beneath the heavens in a 

reptile form, 
A worm of sixty winters creeping on the dusty 

ground? 
The child springs from the womb; the father 

ready stands to form 
The infant head, while the mother idle plays with 

her dog on her couch. 
The young bosom is cold for lack of mother's 

nourishment, and milk 
Is cut off from the weeping mouth with difficulty 

and pain. 
The little lids are lifted, and the little nostrils 

opened ; 
The father forms a whip to rouse the sluggish 

senses to act. 
And scourges off all youthful fancies from the 

new-born man. 
Then walks the weak infant in sorrow, compelled 

to number footsteps 



TIRIEL. 231 

Upon the sand. And, when the drone has reached 

his crawling length, 
Black berries appear that poison all around him. 

Such was Tiriel, — 
Compelled to pray repugnant and to humble the 

immortal spirit, 
Till I am subtle as a serpent in a paradise, 
Consuming all — both flowers and fruits, insects and 

warbling birds. 
And now my paradise is fallen, and a drear sandy 

plain 
Returns my thirsty hissings in a curse on thee, O 

Har, 
Mistaken father of a lawless race! — My voice is 

past." 

He ceased, outstretched at Har and Heva's feet 
in awful death. 



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